


Kafka's Revenge

by Bellybits



Series: Circadian [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Keith (Voltron), Biology, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Gore, M/M, Sort Of, Trans Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Transformation, Xenobiology, Xenophilia, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-12-30 05:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12102285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellybits/pseuds/Bellybits
Summary: Keith's been worried about what his Galra genes meant for him for a while. He's been expecting some horrific transmutation, to turn into some kind of monster despite the comforts of his peers.But he wasn't a monster, and it isn't a catastrophic change. It was slow and gradual in the way most metamorphoses were.He had thought that going through two puberties was bad- and now he was having a third one. Great.





	1. Seepage

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of Biorhythms. It's not gonna be very linear and I doubt itll really make sense, but its fun to write. Enjoy, let me know what you think!

Of course it’s his fucking hair. 

 

He’ll never hear the end of it from Lance.

 

Keith hadn’t even noticed it at first, it was such a subtle shift. He didn’t have the time or spoons to pay too much attention to his appearance, and it wasn’t a form of self-care that helped him like it did Lance. 

 

Occasionally he would snatch a glance of himself in some reflective surface of the ship, his hair ruffled and shining with grease and sweat, and simply not notice the grey hairs peeking out at his temples. Keith would sweep his hair up into a half pony and he wouldn’t pay mind to how the strands were stretchier than normal or the way it would break off in the teeth of his comb more easily. He was in a war, how could he be expected to pay attention to how his roots were growing paler, edging towards gray as the pigment leached out; like when dried flower petals sit in warm water. He couldn't waste time with looking into the gentle tingly of his scalp, it was probably some weird space thing anyway. Astronauts get odd sensations from being off-planet too long all the time. 

  
  


Keith, however, was not an idiot. Drastic changes didn’t escape his attention often.

 

He sees the color swirling lazily in the drain one day after a mission, as if he’d just dyed his hair and the chemicals were washing away. It blends in with the dirt and blood collecting on the tiles by his feet. When he steps out of the shower and wipes the steam fogging his mirror he has to bite his tongue to hold in a shriek.

 

White. His hair is white. 

 

‘Going ghost,’ he thinks deliriously to himself. 

 

He would look into it later when he was significantly less panicked and naked and find that the keratin structure holding the pigment in his hair was changing, suddenly unable to maintain the eumelanin it had grown in with. But now, in the moment his fingers are shaking as Keith reaches up to touch his hair. 

 

He runs his fingers through the thick strands, so shockingly pale. Keith’s lip twists and his reflection follows the movement. There's a tacky layer of dysphoria creeping down his spine. His face looks all wrong now. Its rounder without black bordering it, the apples of his cheeks merging unattractively with the bags under his eyes in a lumpy little hillscape. The peach fuzz,  _ vellus hairs _ , had also dropped their pigment along with his eyebrows and eyelashes. He frowned at his face- he looked like a fuzzy egg. 

 

His mind was slowly turning into a maelstrom of half-formed fears and theories. 

 

_ Would it stay like this color? Or would melanocytes start producing a new pigment? What had triggered this? Some sort of growth hormone he had lacked on earth? Was it the proximity of the other Galra on board the castle? Maybe an inhibitor that he was exposed to at home had finally run its course of his system- it would make sense if it was one half of an antagonistic growth hormone relationship.  _

 

Keith shakes his head violently, water droplets from the shower flicking in all directions and speckling the mirror. Whatever. He could deal with this, this was nothing in the grand scheme of things. It was just hair color, they had a war to worry about! He couldn’t fall apart over going grey at an early age. 

 

Without looking back at the mirror he storms from the small shower room, only remembering to stop and get dressed when the damp corner of his towel sticks uncomfortably to his calf. 


	2. Enamel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wiggle wiggle. Watch out my guys this ones kinda nasty. I know this chapter is late but I've been busy with university. Hope you guys enjoy this weirdness. Leave a comment, it's what feeds my ego and writing bug.

Keith had taken to avoiding the mirror in the shower room in general. Only really using it when he woke up to check for zits and push his hair into a relatively tame heap. He was scared that the next time he met his reflection's eyes they wouldn’t be his anymore, that overnight he would have finally been fully spirited away

  
  


He’s walking between the training the deck and the pool room when Keith notices the taste of blood in his mouth, something he expects on the battlefield but not at home. At first he thinks he’s just brushed too hard again this morning and made his gums bleed. But as he feels around his mouth with his tongue he realizes that his canines are actually loose. Really loose. Like about to fall out of his god damn face loose. He stops short halfway to the pool and slaps a hands over his mouth, flinching as that inspires a fresh burst of iron onto his pallet. 

 

Pain is slowly starting to blossom, reminding him a lot of getting his braces tightened in grade school. Slow pulling that crescendos into a deep throbbing ache. Keith forces himself to unclench his jaw and a sick click sounds in his jaw. He has to force down a heave as he feels something give in his mouth. 

 

He spits out a tooth.

 

* * *

  
  


It says a lot about Lance’s life, that when he sees a trail of blood in the hallway outside his room his only thought is: ‘Eugh, who’s gonna clean it up this time?’

 

But, because Lance is a good noodle and full of years of instinct from babysitting clumsy children, he’s following the trail before he even puts his shoes on. He shuffles his wool covered feet down the quiet corridor, stifling a yawn into his wrist. Pausing to inspect the blood closer he realizes that it’s not just red decorating the ground. There's foamy, slightly pink globs of liquid alongside the trail every twenty feet like the compy spit in Jurasic Park. Gross. 

 

Its way too early to be dealing with someone bleeding out. What time is it even? Lance was only up to grab a water pouch from the kitchen and maybe one of Hunk’s snacks. He’s drowsy enough that he almost walks face first into the door the trail of blood splatters under. 

 

_ ‘Of course it's Keith.’  _ He grumbles to himself.

 

Lance doesn't bother with knocking, simply pressing his hand to the sensor on the door frame and sweeping into Keith’s bedroom.

 

“Alright you edgelord, what do you need patched up this time?” Lance wonders aloud. He pauses when he realizes that there's no Keith glaring at him from the bed like there usually is. Huh, maybe he’s in the bathroom; probably doing a shitty job of cleaning up whatever scrape that lead to all that blood loss. Lance starts toward the back of the room and almost immediately steps directly in a puddle of something decidedly warm and slippery. Its seeping through his sock even as he backs up with an aborted yelp. Yep, definitely blood and that nasty pink foam.

 

The trail does in fact lead to the bathroom, a sharp thrill of protectiveness goes up Lance’s spine when he hears quiet whimpers filter out from behind the door. He rushes across the remaining space in spite of his now soggy sock, his hands an inch from the pad that would open the bathroom when he hesitates. Lance presses his ear to the door, trying to see if he can hear his friend through the metal, Keith might be having a melt down. It would be better for both of them if Lance has an idea of what kind of injury he’ll be dealing with- accidental or intentional.

 

There’s loud heaving and soft little clinks of something falling into the basin of the sink that echo in the relative quiet of Keith’s room. Lance swallows around the lump of fear lodged in his throat. God, what if he’s really sick? Or hurt? Or dying of some alien infection?

 

“Keith, buddy? My man? I’m gonna come in alright, just punch me if I walk in to you jacking it or something.” Lance says with false bravado, trying to inject some humor into the grim feeling clouding the room. Only he could make a dick joke after following an ominous blood trail to his teammates room.

 

Keith doesn't say anything- a few more clinks echo under the door. Lance takes that as permission enough to enter. 

 

When he peeks around the door he's not sure what he's expecting. Keith has a habit of getting himself hurt and hiding it. He had told Lance, in a quiet moment stranded on an alien planet, that he doesn't like to be seen so vulnerable, that he had to always look strong for the team. Lance has a feeling that Keith just doesn't want anyone to notice how ‘accident’ prone he is when he's upset, afraid of some kind of intervention from Shiro or Coran. 

 

What he's faced with when the door slides open is the stuff of nightmares. 

 

Literally. Like, its a common trope of night terrors and has Lance questioning whether he's actually awake or not. 

 

Keith is hunched over the sink in the center wall of the bathroom, wild tangled hair matted to his temples with sweat. His eyes fly up to meet Lance’s in the mirror pupils blown wide and terrified. His dark irises contrast starkly against his pale skin. Lance thinks for a moment that he's caught Keith doing a terrible job of dying his newly white hair because the tips around his face are streaked with pink and red. He really, really wishes that's all that he’d just walked in on. 

 

There’s thick ropes of drying blood hanging from Keith’s sharp chin, more trails from the corners of his open mouth and drip slowly onto his dark shirt. Lance peaks past Keith’s gaze into the sink.

It’s filled with splatters of foamy pink saliva and blood, and innocently resting down by the drain is a pile of teeth.

 

Lance’s eyes snap back up to Keith’s face as he gasps wetly, a long trail of pink drool oozing out around his grimace. He watches in rapt horror as Keith reaches into his bloody mouth and haltingly pulls back out with a molar pinched between two shaking fingers. The tooth is dropped into the sink with the others and Keith hauks out another mouthful of blood and spit, vehemently avoiding Lance’s gaze. Oh god, did he get all his teeth punched out by the training droid? Lance has had a tooth knocked during battle, and that's a lot of teeth in the sink.

 

Lance shakes his head viciously and steps forward despite his disgust, his sock squelches wetly with Keith’s blood. Lance can feel his own pulse rabbiting in his neck, this isn’t something he knows he can help with. He’s just a pilot, he’s not a fucking dentist. Lance locks his hands together, wringing the dark skin until it’s ashy. They need an adult. A real, not late teens adult. Good lord Keith must be miserable. 

 

Edging his way to the hunched form at the sink, cautious of his movements and distinctly aware of the pain the red paladin is practically seeping from his pores, Lance reaches a hand out to push Keiths hair back from his dirty face.

 

He must be in an incredible amount of pain if he doesn't even flinch away from the unexpected touch. Lance is no stranger to loose teeth, his siblings have all lost their baby teeth- at times he’s even been the one instructed to yank them out of stubborn brothers who refused to stop messing around and get it over with. But this is something he's never seen, a nearly grown man loosing what were supposed to be his permanent teeth all at once, seemingly without reprieve.

 

There are tears slipping from Keith’s eyes, and Lance can’t blame him. He grabs Keith’s face gently between his hands, careful to avoid the clotted blood hanging from his chin. 

 

Lance likes to think that at the tender age of nineteen, and with two years of space war under his belt, that he’s ace at keeping a cool head in horribly stressful situations. Keith is also most likely freaked out anyway, Lance panicking won’t help anything. So he steels himself for what’s looking to be a long, gross night of playing nurse and making sure his teammate doesn't choke on his own teeth. 

 

“Hey Keith, buddy, can you open your mouth? I’m gonna check if there's any shards stuck in your gums ok?” Lance says as soothingly as he can. Keith nods his head and drops his mouth open like he’s at a real dentist's office and not floating in space light years away from professional help. Well, at least he has faith in Lance. That or he's delirious with pain and would do anything anyone asked of him right now, but semantics. 

 

Lance peers cautiously at Keith’s gumline. Most of his teeth are gone and Lance lets out a sympathetic whimper. He can feel Keith’s clammy skin trembling against his hands, this must have been going on for at least a couple hours. There's two molars left on the upper left side and a canine and incisor on the bottom, but they all look dangerously loose- the canine is holding on by a thread and wiggles as Keith pants out heavy breaths.

 

This is too much for Lance to handle alone, he’s not a doctor like Coran or a biologist like Ulaz. He steels himself for the arduous task of convincing Keith that they need an adulter adult’s help. 

 

“Keith listen-” Lance starts to say, but he's interrupted by Keith lurching forward and choking out more blood and bile. 

 

“Ok! This is where I have to tap out buddy, we need help here.” Lance stumbles back through the bathroom door to the keypad by the main threshold of the room. He slaps a sweaty hand down onto the intercom and barks out a loud, “Coran! Ulaz! Keith’s room stat!” Not caring to explain further, they’d come if only out of curiosity.

 

He’s about to pull his hand away and join Keith and his tooth pile once again when the red paladin lets out a blood curdling shriek. 

 

Jesus, thats a noise Lance has only heard a couple times before and usually involved some level of dismemberment. He snatches his hand off of the intercom button and immediately a chorus of concerned voices spills out through the tiny speakers. He ignores them in favor of rushing back to Keith’s side, they’d be here soon enough anyway.

 

Keith is staring into his mouth again, either not caring or not noticing the drool sliding down his neck. His gaze is locked on the gums where his incisors ought to be. No wait, where his incisors are? Where something is? There’s definitely something there.

 

Lance’s stomach does a sick kick as he and Keith watch a new, decidedly pointed, tooth breach where his human ones recently vacated. Lance quickly wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders, noticing that at least the last of the human teeth have been shed, siting oh so innocently with their buddies by the drain. “Come on Texas, let’s have a sit yeah?” Lance suggests as he tugs them both to the ground and out of the mirrors line of sight.

 

Keith tucks his legs up to his chest and plants his forehead on his knees. He keeps letting out these pitiful groans and stifled squeals of pain, there's wet sniffling as well and Lance’s heart breaks for him. All Lance can really do is sit there and rub his friend’s shuddering back, and it fucking sucks that he can’t help more than that. His shoulders slump in relief when he picks up the sharp tapping of Coran and half the damn castle rush down the hallway towards them. 

  
  
  
  



	3. Prolonged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there my dudes I'm back. I've been busy at University lately, and also just kind of putting this off,,,,, Let me know what you think, I live for comments tbh.

As endearing as Lance’s Mother henning was- uselessly flapping his hands around Keith’s head and shouting ‘Be Careful’ everytime Coran’s gentle prodding made Keith flinch didn’t actually help anything. Shocking.

 

The older Aliens shoo Lance out of the medical wing after suffering ten minutes of fretting. He had shuffled away with a pout solidly on his face and if Keith hadn’t been holding a damp rag under his chin to catch bloody drool he would have chuckled at his friends clear indignance. 

  
  


Ulaz holds up one of Keiths old teeth, the complex goggles resting on the bridge of his flat nose whir and click as he observes the dissolved root. He ‘hmms’ as he considers the pulp lining the exposed inner cavity. Keith looks over, expecting him to comment on something he’s found. Instead he sets the incisor down and picks up a molar, repeating the action and until hes shuffled all of thirty two pieces of bone from one side of the lab bench to the other. 

 

Keith huffs, Ulaz’s ear twitching is the only sign that he’s even aware of his existence.

 

Keith is reclined in a vinyl chair poking at his tender gum line with his tongue, with a trite expression pinching the skin between his eyebrows. The tip of his tongue dips into an empty socked and he muffles a tiny shriek. Ulaz looks up, acknowledging Keith for the first time in nearly an hour, and arches one of his large eyebrows.

 

“I told you to stop that, cub.” Ulaz drawls, Keith sticks his blood stained tongue at him. Like an adult.

 

At least now he doesn't have to worry about his wisdom teeth. 

 

His mood isn't helped by the new teeth slowly growing in, each new piece of enamel erupting in a twinge of discomfort and coppery blood adding to his migraine. It was hard to really think through the bright overhead lights, throbbing of his mouth, and intermittent tinking of Ulaz shuffling through his collection of teeth.

 

Keith sags slightly in relief as the door behind him swooshes open, hoping that whoever’s just come in will be better company than Ulaz. He might be hoping for one person over the others.

 

Coran sweeps into the lab Keith and Ulaz had moved to, and Keith does his best not to show his slight disappointment. Honestly he’s surprised that Coran had been gone as long as he had considering how much he loves the lab. It’s an offshoot of the medical bay used for research that hadn’t been active since the days of Altea until the Blade moved in. Ulaz’s setup is pretty impressive and it’s kind of adorable how enthralled Coran seems with it. Walking in and finding him and Shiro peering over Ulaz’s shoulder at whatever he was working on was common enough that Pidge has stopped taking pictures of it.

 

The advisor pats Keith on shoulder as he passes by and Keith brightens as he hands him an ice pop. 

 

Coran’s ears flick idly as he dips his head to mutter to Ulaz. Ulaz’s goggles slide up into the thin tuft of fur on the crown of his head and an interested trill sounds as he perks up. But Keith can’t help the soft smile that crosses his face as the two older men chat back and forth. There are smile lines creasing in the wrinkles of Coran’s face as Ulaz starts offering what he’s managed to eek out- something about the osteocytes in Keith’s maxilla and mandible kicking into overdrive- like Keith isn’t sitting  _ right there _ .

 

Gee, thanks for telling the person whose body is rebelling  _ again _ , first. He tries his damdest to scowl but can't manage to budge the fond look on his own face, he really can’t bring himself to dampen one of the few lighthearted moments in their lives.

 

Normally Keith would be over the moon about all the new information on his biology, but the slow churn of anxiety growing in his gut is keeping him from celebrating. 

 

Instead, he’s agonizing over what would happen next. Would his nails fall out? Would he suddenly grow three feet in a gruesome crack of bones and stretched tendons? Maybe he’d grow a  _ tail _ . Producing several extra vertebrae suddenly sounds not only highly unlikely but also painful as fuck.

 

Fingers twisting together tightly Keith sucks his lower lip into his mouth, grimacing as the skin slides between his mostly bare gums. Or what if something worse happened, something he’s been stewing on mentioning to the two technicians in front of him.

 

What if this new puberty starts to revert his transitional progress. Keith’s been on testosterone for years, and he and Pidge had decided to figure out synthesizing new hormones without talking to Coran. They had just fed samples of the hormones they had managed to bring with them into the castles spectrometer and made more without issue.

 

It’s not like they’re hiding their transness, everyone of the ship is at least a little aware. Considering that most of the humans were queer they hadn’t felt the need to avoid the topic when gender had come up in conversation.

 

But, what if the changes start to extend beyond superficial things, what if the new galran hormones in his body canceled out his T. He hadn’t gotten to talking sex based hormones with Ulaz, shame keeping his own interest at bay.

 

Keith could feel sweat pool in his palms, lingering uncomfortably because he didn't have his gloves on to absorb it like he usually did. They were sitting on his bathroom floor, probably in a puddle of drying blood. 

 

Ulaz’s nose twitches, he can probably smell his anxiety, he says something that Keith can’t hear to Coran. The Altean whips around with a bright grin stretching his lips.

 

“Keith, my boy! Ulaz here tells me that you’ve started teething already, I remember when my  _ brey’jup _ shed his first layer of teeth. There was blood and tissue all over the repository for a week!” Coran chirps, pinching one end of his mustache and tugging.

 

Keith can see Ulaz’s lip turn up at the edge, he leans forward in his seat to nudge the edge of his boot against Coran’s. 

 

“Coran? Would you like to tell Keith what I told you?” He suggests lightly.

 

Coran coughs out a chuckle and snaps his fingers away from his facial hair. 

 

“Ah! Of course Ulaz. We’ve been speaking-”

 

“I’ve noticed.” Keith cuts in, his temporary lisp dampening the bite in his words.

 

“Ahem, and we’re rather certain that we’ll be able to determine your subspecies when your new dental formula grows in. Isn’t that exciting!”

 

Keith sits up a bit straighter as he processes the new information. This would be the closest they’ve gotten to figuring out his galra side since his ‘developments’ started. The blades had been gently shoving Keith’s research in the right direction, but they didn’t have much to offer other than the basics. 

 

There wasn’t any info on who his mother was, or even if his other parent was actually female at all. It was honestly kind of comforting that none of the galrans had assumed that his parent was a woman, it quelled some of the worry about his hormones. 

 

He knew, intuitively that the galra population lacked sexual dimorphism, he’d seen enough of the empire and talked to enough of the blades to know that they mostly appeared masculine by birth. Some choosing to present in a more feminine manner than others was a slight comfort to Keith, it hinted that maybe there were people like him within the Galra as well.

 

 But still, he was a new hybridization, maybe things would be different for him. He should probably mention it to them. He definitely would. You know, eventually.


	4. Faux Pas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up my dudes, have my sappy headcanon filled mush, sorry if it feels a little rushed towards the end. I love Coran with my entire soul. As always leave comments and feedback! I love it! Thanks for reading. B3

Lance isn’t pacing.

He’s not! He didn’t walk the length of the common room so many times that Pidge kicked him out. He wasn’t shooed from the bridge by Allura’s exasperated glare over her cartograph hologram. And he definitely did not tuck his tail and flee the kitchen when Hunk gave him the Best Friend Look of Disapproval for bumping into his elbow with his bouncy anxious leg, causing Hunk’s delicate souffle to wilt.

 

 He certainly hasn’t been wandering around the castle either, chewing on his lip and shakily picking at the tacky blood under his fingernails.

 

His friend’s blood. Keith’s blood.

 

Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time Lance has had to scrape the bodily fluids of his injured teammates off of himself, but it’s unpleasant nonetheless. He’s reminded of Keith’s pain every time he brings his fingers to his mouth, anxious enough to want to chew on his nails, and recoils at the scent of copper. So he really hasn’t been paying attention to where he was wandering, taking flights of curved stairs and turning corners at random. Not really the smartest thing to do considering the castle has over seventy-eight discrete levels.

 

By no means is Lance Ramos-Mcclain completely and utterly lost on some landing of this stupidly large castle ship.

 

“Well, tits.” His voice echoes unhelpfully around the hallway he’s definitely not stranded in.

 

Lance twists in place a few times making himself a little dizzy as he takes in his surroundings. The walls here are a sharper version of the elliptical Altean architecture the rest of the castle sports. The colors seem more muted, the gentle blue lights a bit dimmer, edging towards a navy blue rather than the periwinkle- not sky blue _Pidge_ \- everywhere else.

 

It piques the paladin’s interest, Lance has never been in this wing of the castle. He presses his hand to the metal wall and lets his fingers skim along the light bar as he continues down the hallway. He’s already definitely-not-lost so there's really no harm in going further right?

 

There's a set of double doors at the end of the hall, the luminescent panels bordering it are the dimmest yet- nearly violet. Almost like this wing, and that room in particular, is meant for something that requires low light. Something with sensitive eyes.

 

Lance, a snoop by nature and extensive exposure to Hunk, makes the executive decision that his wandering hasn’t gotten him lost but has led him to a new room full of juicy 10,000 year old secrets. He’s totally gonna look.

 

The door swooshes open easily when his hand hits the control pad, dust that had settled fluffs up into Lances face and he's forced to blink about half a dozen times, fluttering his eyelashes like some kind of 20’s vixen. Damn space allergies.

Through the glare of his slightly teary eyes he catches sight of a strikingly familiar orange mustache staring back at him. Lance absolutely lets out a squawk of surprise, ready to start blabbering his way out of getting caught poking around by Coran.

 

He feels kind of dumb when he realizes that it’s not actually the Altean advisor standing there, but a portrait of him. He looks different, not only younger but his marking are different too. Below his eye scales curve two long purple lines, they hitch and zag twice before coming to an end at the bottom of his cheekbones near where his hair is pulled into a loose ponytail. But it's not just him either, there’s someone standing next to him, as well as an infant clinging to the second figure's chest. Coran’s companion is tall, broad-shouldered, and purple.

 

He’s Galra.

 

So is the child he’s holding, it’s pale lavender skin contrasts the hand Coran has brushing over its small head. The baby is cute as hell, with swirls of red and darker purple waving across its little brow and down the profile of its snub nose. It’s got ears like a Scottish fold cat, like the cartilage hasn’t quite popped yet. They match their parent (?) who has huge Lynx-like ears, sweeping sharply up and ending with little tufts of white and purple fur. He also has the same type of violet and mauve markings on his handsome face. But the thing that marks the baby as definitely Coran’s is the shock of fiery ginger hair curling in a straight line down the center of its skull, and the small Altean eye scales glowing seafoam green against its chubby cheeks.

 

Coran and the Galra man both have toothy grins on their faces, looking down at their child with so much love and adoration that Lance has to swallow hard around the lump of homesickness building in his throat. They look so happy.

 

That Galra is probably dead, and with that thought comes a wave of sadness that hardens quickly into Lance realizing that he definitely shouldn’t be here.

 

This room, whatever it used to be, seems to have been turned into a makeshift gallery. The walls are lined with portraits of varying sizes, decorated with the faces of a lost civilization. There are little glowing plaques next to each frame, morbid curiosity has Lance stepping toward Coran’s before he even registers it.

 

 **Vassaerk Throtok, Second Prince of Daibazal** and **Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smyth, Prince Consort of Daibazal - Duke of Altea** with **Princess Zlethra Throtok**.

Decafeeb ϓ 1.223.45

Status

Deceased   

Living

Unknown

 

Lance reads over the small inscription three more times before he can fully process the information. Coran was married? To a Prince? And he had a daughter!

 

Or, well, according to this painting he might still _have_ one. Lance snaps a quick picture of the plaque, he’s too excited to look at any of the others, and sprints out of the room and down the hall. If the castle has been automatically recording who in its database is living or dead then maybe it also knows _where_ they are. Maybe there are still some Alteans left.

 

* * *

 

Where the hell is he.

 

This is getting ridiculous. He just wants to tell Lance about the new info on his parentage, not go on a wild goose chase. Keith’s checked the lounge, the control deck, that stupid upside-down pool. Lance isn’t even in his room, and Keith has to try very hard to ignore the flare of heat that rises on his cheeks when he thinks about how the first time he sees the inside of Lance’s room being during a damn near search and rescue- not the context he would have preferred.

 

Keith is about to turn around and resign to spend another few hours alone waiting for dinner when Lance and Hunk come barreling around the corner. They're nearly frantic, color high on their cheeks as they talk excitedly over one another. Keith can only parse out a few scraps of their conversation as they steadily rush towards him.

 

“Lance this is amazing! We need to get pidge-”

 

“And have her plug into whatevers hooked to the portraits-”

 

“She’s gonna lose it when she sees how cute this baby is-”

 

"I know right!"

 

The two are so wrapped up in their own chittering that they don’t spot Keith’s frozen form until it's too late. Their momentum carries as they crash into him and the air is knocked out of Keith's chest with a wheeze as a bundle of pointy elbows and two warm bodies pseudo dogpile him.

 

“Oh! Hey Keith, you gotta see what Lance found!” Hunk shouts happily, as if he’s not laying over the tangled limbs of his friends.

 

Before he can lisp out a response there's a pair of brown hands sweeping his wispy pale hair away from his eyes and presenting him with a cellphone. Keith has to squint his eyes at the bright screen, they’ve been getting more sensitive lately and he finds that the castle has been accommodating by lowering the ambient lighting to what was common in the blades common areas. When the picture in front of him focuses his jaw drops a little. Coran, a Galra, and an infant that looks like a mix of the two. Huh.

 

“Have you talked to Coran yet?” Keith questions, eyes flicking from one face to another.

 

Lance’s mouth twists into a pout while Hunk’s drops into a grimace. Evidently not. Keith understands though, hyperfocus can sometimes block out things that seem obvious to others, he’d bet his favorite knife that as soon as Lance started walking away from wherever he saw that the first thing he did was start dumping to Hunk. A soft smile slides onto Keith’s lips as he gazes at the handsome boy propped above him.

 

Oh shit, Lance is totally laying on him, pressed chest to chest under the weight of Hunk’s large frame. The other two seem to either have not noticed or simply don’t care. Keith, however, isn't accustomed to this degree of contact _at all_. He can feel his cheeks start to flame and he’s sure it clashes horribly with his white fringe- that Lance currently has his fingers buried in still holding his hair away from his eyes.

 

Lance’s eyes flick down to Keith’s face again, his pout forming into a sappy little smile absently rubbing the pad of his thumb against the sharp bone of Keith's cheek. The moment fizzles away as Hunk heaves a mighty sigh and pulls them all up off the floor. Stupid Hunk and his big strong arms.

 

“Keith’s right Lance, oh man that's weird to say, we gotta talk to Coran before anyone else.”

 

“Oh, yeah yeah, fine. Let’s do it. Come on captain buzzkill you’re coming with!” Lance chirps in reply.

 

Keith can’t even stutter out an indignant, ‘Wait, What?’ Before he’s being tugged down the hall by the wrist by two very excited paladins.

 

* * *

 

Keith can’t tell how a normal person would have broached the subject of a dead child and partner, but he’s pretty sure Hunk blurting out a mess of words along the line of ‘Hey, we think your dead daughter is still alive somewhere; by the way, why didn’t you tell us you had a husband and kid?’ in one breath wasn’t the most delicate.

 

A sad look shudders down over Coran’s usually cheery face. The three of them had found him fiddling with something on the bridge, having shepherded Allura away from her battle planning for a break.

 

 

“Ah, yes. I had nearly forgotten about those photos. I wish I could encourage you my boy but my child fell with Altea” Coran says, his face turned half away from the trio of young men gathered in front of him.

 

Keith and Lance stab their elbows into the soft flesh of Hunk’s stomach at the same time.

 

“But then why does that picture say it’s unknown! If she’s not dead maybe she got to a cryopod! Maybe she had kids! We could try to find her-.” Lance looks nearly desperate as he questions the tall Altean.

 

“Him”

 

“I- what?”

 

“Him, he was my son. He died after his metamorphosis but before we could update the logs on the castle. Lance, I know you want to help us all find our families, but my old one is rightly lost.” Coran sighs, he runs a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic show of stress.

 

Coran sets his hand on Lance’s shoulder. The paladin steadfastly avoids his gaze, guilt and sadness shudders along his expression in shades. Keith shifts to his other side and presses their shoulders together.

 

“Let’s sit. Perhaps knowing what happened will settle our souls.” Coran nudges the pair toward a low bench set in a viewport, Hunk trailing after with shining eyes.

  


“Vassaerk was slain by Zarkon at the beginning of the war, his own uncle plunged the black bayard into his chest as he stood at Alfors side. Two of my closest companions were lost within seconds of one another.” There's a tremble to his voice as Coran says this.

 

“Charth’et, my son’s chosen title, refused to join Allura and I in the cryopods. I watched as he took his ship down to the surface of Altea. Knowing him, there's no chance he would have left our people without a leader, and as a member of the Altean lineage they would have followed him if they could.”  

 

Lance’s breath catches. Keith flaps his hand nervously against the tight clench of his fist, when he looks up to his face the blue paladin's eyes are shut tight with secondhand grief. Keith looks desperately between Hunk and Lance, unsure how to comfort his friend. Hunk shifts from foot to foot from where he's standing; he begins to reach out but Coran beats him to it shifting to a knee in front of the blue paladin.

 

Coran cups Lance’s cheeks gently between his gloved hands, a somber yet fond smile on his face.

 

“My boy-” He looks up at the rest of them, “My boys, I have had my time to grieve. I know this type of loss can be crippling, but I’m not suffering alone. I have a new family, Allura is still with me, and now I have you paladins as well. I’ve shed enough tears for all of us I think.” He says quietly, using the press of his thumb to dab away angry tears in the corner of Lance’s eyes.

 

Keith hums in sympathy, awed again at Coran’s character when he’s not being goofy. They don’t really see a lot of his serious side, it's easy to forget that he was around when the war broke out, that he's seen more blood and strife than any of them. It’s reassuring that humor and levity can survive through the horrors that the Altean man has.

 

He’s about to open his mouth to thank Coran for telling them when all the air is squished out of him. Hunk scoops all three of them into a tight bear hug. Lance’s head ends up wedged into the crook of Keith’s neck, the red paladin quietly pries an arm out of the hug and settles his hand in the fringe of his friend's curly hair.

 

The sound of soft sniffles and Hunk’s warbling echoes around the chamber, but Keith can’t help but smile. He looks from where his fingers tangle in brown hair up to the kindly smiling face of Coran. Keith knows more than ever that he can trust this man to understand. He and Pidge really weren’t alone.


	5. Symbiote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back my dudes. This is,,,,, sappy. Listen coming out is hard, being trans is dangerous. I don't know if I protrayed the real anxiety it induces, I almost puked when I came out as trans to my parents. I feel you Keith.
> 
> As always please leave comments and Kudos, I read all of them even if I don't respond. <:^3c
> 
> Also it's completley un-beta'ed so if theres goofs thats why.

* * *

 

“Lets see, double set it appears. One layer of serrated flexion spurs, very nice. Above that I see a typical _Sȅt Ayshyn_ formula: two hexacusp molars, a double CP2-3 honing complex to match the two canines, and two ologarth incisors on each side- top and bottom.” Coran reads off the clipboard in Ulaz’s hands, he eyes the paladins in front of him as if they were supposed to glean anything from that.

 

“Uh, what?” Lance questions and Keith kind of agrees, he’s struggling to sort through all the new information himself.

 

Ulaz shakes his head with a fond huff and walks over to wall next to the medical cot Keith and the rest of the Paladins are squished onto. A square lights up under Ulaz’s claw and he plugs the clipboard in sideways to the wall. It looks like a CD sticking halfway out of a drive.

 

“Keith did you get any of that?” Hunk stage whispers next to his ear, the volume of his voice grates at Keith’s sharpening hearing and he has to repress the urge to flinch away. He’s learned that most people take flinching as a personal thing, he personally doesn't really get it.

 

“Some of it? All I know is that a CP3 honing complex is this thing.” Keith points to the premolar closest to his first canine.

Where the two teeth used to be pressed together there is now a sizable gap, the premolar is low and wide angled so that when Keith closes his mouth his upper canine slides against it down into groves in his gumline.

 

Ulaz continues to fiddle with the light board, pausing every other click to swat away Coran and Shiro’s hands.

 

“So I guess that CP2-3 refers to the that and the second canines right after it too. Serrated flexion spurs sound like these things maybe?” Keith opens his mouth wide to show Hunk his hard pallet, he catches the curious look of Lance and Pidge out of the corner of his eye.

 

Allura has joined in the group crowding Ulaz, he can’t tell if she’s scolding the older men or goading them on.

 

On the ridge where the roof of his mouth merges to the back of his teeth there's a line of pale and unassuming ribbed flesh. Pidge slaps a hand over Lance’s mouth to hold in his squeal as Keith’s face twists in concentration and long curved barbs flare out in a terrifying halo behind his main set of teeth. They immediately fall back into place up along Keith’s pallet before he can skewer his tongue snapping his jaw shut in shock when the shrill sound pushes past Pidges hand. His four upper canines scrape loudly against their honing teeth and the palladins on the cot flinch as a loud _thump_ sounds over by Ulaz.

 

You would think three adult war strategists would have more pride, but that hasn't stopped the pile of aliens plus Shiro from tumbling around like kids.

 

Ulaz pushes himself to his feet, amusingly he doesn't pause to knock Coran off his shoulder so the Altean ends up clinging to the side of him like a koala. Keith thinks he can the the edge of a repressed smile curling Ulaz’s stern face.

 

“Ahem. As I was going to say.” Ulaz snaps, Shiro and Allura scurry back to the bed the rest of the paladins are crowded on. Keith surreptitiously smacks his older brothers bicep for being such a dork.

 

“Keith, I can say with a good degree of confidence that you are of the _Sȅt Ayshyn_ sub-species. The same as Antok, one of our new recruits Regris, and Galra Commander Ladnok. They are defined by their aquatic homogeneity: usually hairless, dry or scaly skinned; and with high bilateral cranial crests housing incredibly powerful auditory organs that resemble highly convoluted or spiraled lateral lines.” Ulaz pauses, Keith looks up from the datapad he’s set to record and catches the flash of approval on the other galra’s face.

 

“Some, like Commander Ladnok, may possess a vestigial set of pharyngeal gills. Others, like Antok and Regris, have prehensile tails left over from ancestral caudal tails. I think the closest Earth equivalent would be something like a large marine predator, through to be quite frank it is a taxonomic nightmare trying to compare alien species.” He mumbles the last bit, irritation clear on his face. Keith can relate.

 

“Many _Sȅt Ayshyn_ possess powerful venoms that are injected via their flexion barbs. Though the types of venom vary within the sub-species depending on heredity, you could have hemotoxic, cytotoxic, neurotoxic, cardiotoxic, or a cocktail of the four. The barbs behave a bit more like modified hair than true teeth, they are meant to come out when used in a fight or hunting and stick into the victim. They will grow back rather quickly, so there's no need to panic if a few break or fall out while you’re adapting, Keith. I suggest not biting any of your teammates durring spars. Though perhaps you will be able to control which type of venom, if any, are injected when you bite. It really is fascinating, not to mention you’re now practically invulnerable to venomous materials as a result-”

 

He cuts himself off with a small cough as his sentence begins to descend into rambling. Keith forgets that his instructors field of study is biotoxins- until subjects like this come up and consume Ulaz for hours at a time. That means he’ll probably also want a sample once Keith starts producing venom.

 

“So wait, Ulaz, what you're saying to me is that Keith. Dear, beloved, grump-on-a-lump _Keith_ \- is SharkBoy?” Lance busts in, leaning heavily on Keith’s shoulder to get closer to the power point Ulaz has been referring to lighting up the wall. The other paladins, except Allura bless her, are struggling to hide their giggling.

 

“I do not know what a _Shar-ek_ is, paladin.” Ulaz shoots back, a line of indignance creasing the bridge of his nose.

 

“Shut up dude!” Keith puffs over the flutter of giggles coming from is friends, shoving Lance and Pidge away from where they’ve crowded him. He feels irritation prickling along the back of his neck, and he has to actively focus on not spearing his tongue with his secondary teeth as they flutter in his mouth.

 

Shiro sobers quickly, pasting a leaderly look on his face and Keith has to hold back a groan, he just knows that Shiro is gonna jump into another ‘team’ speech, something about how this still doesn't change things and that he’s still Keith.

 

He doesn't see why Shiro thinks this is still necessary. It was stressful in the beginning of course, Allura and Coran had a right to their grief and the trauma they’d endured from the galra. Keith is no stranger to that, he understood why Allura could barely look him in the eye, she was being undermined by something no one could control and that grates on a person.

 

They’d worked through it, there had been a few nights where Keith simply hid from her in his attempt not to make things worse. But Shiro had sat the two of them down and forced them to talk, and it had worked. Though trying to fly away in order to test a, grantedly flimsy, theory that Zarkon had been tracking the two of them, probably wasn’t Shiro’s intended outcome.

 

The point is that the weird tension is mostly gone now, and Keith has come a long way in accepting that he isn't just a mixed race human, but a mixed species one too. Allura has even allowed a small band of the Blade to take up a wing of the ship while they plan for taking down the Empire and dealing with its subsequent power vacuum.

 

Before Shiro can launch into his monologue on the power of friendship Ulaz clears his throat.

 

“While I’m sure he appreciated the support you have shown in the unveiling of his species, there are some things Coran and I would like to discuss with Keith alone. Would you mind vacating for the time being? I’m sure we’ll see you at dinner.”

 

Keith looks away from his brother, narrowing his eyes at the scientist in front of him. He can’t quite tell if there's something Ulaz actually has to say to him or if this is just an excuse to kick everyone out of his space.

 

“Alright then Ulaz. Coran, the paladins and I will be in the training room for the time being. Come along!” Allura says, she loops an arm around Hunk and Pidge. Lance doges neatly away from her grasp with a drawn out groan of, “Alllluuuurrrrraaaaa.”

 

He looks back at Keith as Shiro aids in herding Hunk and Pidge out of the room, Lance’s lip curls in a way he just knows leads to trouble.

 

“Have fun with your alien sex talk buddy! See you at dinner.” With that Lance skips out of the room, leaving a furiously blushing Keith, exasperated Ulaz, and Coran- who has been gradually sliding down Ulaz’s body to stand on his own two feet.

 

“Am I actually getting an alien sex talk? I don’t know if that’s something I want or really need.” Keith pleads mildly, knowing that if Ulaz thinks he needs it there's no way he's getting out of it. Coran speaks up.

 

“Well… Yes and no? We thought it’d be best, now that we’re rather sure you're _Sȅt Ayshyn,_ to tell you about what else might change soon. I figured you’d rather we tell just you and not the whole crew.”

 

“Thats- thats actually pretty considerate. Thanks” Keith mumbles out.

 

“You kids forget that an amazing and humble dignitary like myself must have tact!”

 

Keith is sure that his fellow crewmates would have something to say about Coran’s ‘tact’.

 

“I uh, I need to tell you guys something anyways.” Keith trails off, avoiding their concerned looks as a swell of guilt builds in his gut.

 

Ulaz takes a step forward and places a gentle hand on Keiths shoulder. There's a comforting smile on his face making his yellow eyes read like fatherly suns. Yeah, that's totally a thing. At least that's what Keith thinks he’s supposed to read the expression as.

 

“If something has happened you must trust us to help, cub. Have you experienced any more shifts? Are you alright?” Ulaz questions, Coran’s crop of ginger hair pops up over his shoulder.

 

“I’m not- I’m not sure if I’m right in assuming this, and you can blame alien cultural things if I’m way off but. I think that your son and I might be the same?” Keith winces as soon as he finishes stuttering through the sentence. God how vague can you be! He should have just written it down, it’s so much easier to just write things.

 

“Charth’et? Sorry Ulaz I’m assuming our boy here is talking about me.” Coran’s mustache twitches with a gentle smile, the confusion clears from Ulaz’s face and he lets out a little ‘oh’ of understanding.

 

“There are a number of things you two could have in common number four. He was a poet, and a musician, volunteered at the local rehabilitation shelter. Hmmm, had a bit of a habit of seducing his way out of trouble, though I think that's more Lance than you. You’ll have to be more specific.” Coran says, he hadn’t had to reign in his expression when talking about Charth’et, he genuinly seems excited to talk about his son. Keith’s heart warms a bit.

 

“Uh, I’m not great at poetry, but I can play the violin? Shiro and I used to work at animal shelters during the summer. And I don’t think there's been a situation I _could_ have been able to seduce out of. But that’s not what I’m saying. I think that whatever you’re saying that gets translated into ‘metamorphosis’ is the same thing as being trans for humans!” Keith rushes out his cheeks steaming a bit at his own bluntness. Nice.

 

“And uh, I’m trans.”

 

Keith ducks his head to avoid whatever reaction the other two are having. His pale hair falls down over his eyes, his teeth scrape loudly against each other as anxiety clenches his jaw.

 

It’s unexpected when he’s yanked into a hug. His bangs are pinned over his eyes by his forehead pressing into the chest of whichever man is holding him, it hides the tears of relief he's struggling to hold back.

 

“Thank you for trusting us, cub.” Ulaz’s voice rumbles from off to the side, so it’s Coran hugging him. Makes sense.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner Keith? This must have been tremendously stressful to keep locked away, all the variables it introduces that must have been flying around your head.” The Altean interjects from where his nose is pressed to Keith’s shoulder.

 

Keith shrugs within the circle of Coran’s arms.

 

“It’s different on Earth- I think. Where I’m from it, it’s dangerous, theres always the chance that the next person I tell could be the last.” Keith chokes out, finishing his sentence feels like dragging his feet through mud, the anxiety in his chest fluttering despite the acceptance he’s already been granted.

 

“Oh my boy. We’ll help, I swear to you. We’re on your side.”

 

“No matter what, cub.”

Keith smiles.


	6. Adipose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyall this one is kind of short but I wanted to get it out of my system. Let me know what you think in the comments please and thank you <:^)
> 
> (Also I totally dont claim the theory on galran eye anatomy I use in this fic, its pretty popular in meta so I thought I'd use it too- with my own tweaks of course.

“Do it again”

 

“No.”

 

“C’mon it’s cool!”

 

“It’s dangerous is what it is.”

 

“I’ll owe you one.”

 

“You already owe me several, Lance. I don’t think your credit score is that great.”

 

“Yeah well- Well your credit sucks too, Mr. Martyr.”

 

“If I do this will you leave me alone about it for a  _day_.”

 

“Yes! Totally! I’ll even give you a coupon for a free back rub.”

 

Keith’s fingers are probably going to leave permanent indents on the bridge of his nose with how hard he’s pinching it. It was sort of fun at first, having Lance fawn over him, somewhere between paternal and infatuated attention. It made Keith’s cheeks burn pleasantly and a feathery fizzing erupt in the base of his stomach to have Lance’s hyperfocus aimed at him for once.

 

But it’s starting to get a bit tiring. Keith gets enough guff from Ulaz and Coran: Bend here, flex this, can you feel any new muscle development, should we switch you to protein heavy food yet, how are your bowel movements? There are so many variables that they can’t foresee, and in the name of thoroughness, the questions and demands never seemed to end.

 

Slowly, as if he’s tired after a day of doing the same little party trick for each of his teammates several times, which he  _has_ , Keith scrunches his eyes closed tight. Lance and his giddy jumping disappear for a second, he’s way too distracting for the red paladin to focus on what he’s being asked to do.

 

Keith gently opens his jaw, his four upper canines sliding about of the groove of gum that keeps the teeth from pushing against his lips, the lower four following suit. Along with the rest of his joints, the hinge of his jaw has been steadily loosening and gaining flexibility. Ulaz says that it shouldn’t be anything to worry about,  _Sȅt Ayshyn’s_ apparently have a higher concentration of elastin in their connective tissues than collagen. On Earth, doctors had diagnosed him with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a failure of the Col5a1 gene on the ninth chromosome in which his fibroblasts didn’t produce the proper type V components and failed to coil his collagen fibrils tight enough. Nice to know it’s not that, at least.

 

“Come on buddy, do the thing!” Lance chirps, Keith snaps out of his thoughts and has to suppress a grimace. This is the last time puppy dog eyes will best him.

 

Keith lets his mandible drop the two inches it needs to click into position, he can hear Lance fail to stifle an excited noise. The flexion barbs flick out into the main cavern of his mouth, his tongue resting placidly behind the quill-like spines as it usually does. He’s so tuned into Lance’s reactions that he startles when a drop of something slides down one of his upper barbs and onto his tongue. Keith’s eyes snap open, Lance’s handsome face is frozen midlaugh- slowly being taken over by apprehension and a now familiar triteness.

 

“Uh, Keith? Are you bleeding?” Lance asks, his hand moves to hover in the space between them like he was going to reach into Keith’s mouth and check for himself.

 

Settling his barbs Keith cracks his jaw back into the range of ‘normal’ and not ‘grossly distended, oh god please stop that you look like a horrible snake man’, he keeps his tongue sticking out of his mouth so as not to disrupt whatever sour stuff just oozed onto it. He gathers it’s probably some kind of venom, probably red too, if Lance’s question is anything to go by.

 

They scurry off to find Ulaz. Predictably the older man is absolutely thrilled by Keith’s newest development, quickly scraping the venom from his skin to place in the spectrometer.

 

“Oh my, this is very exciting. From what I can see here you are producing a very potent mix of neuro and hemotoxins, perfect for paralyzing the prey then beginning pre-consumptive chemical digestion. I think this is a good of sign as any that we should seriously consider changing your dietary composition, the presence of this type of venom means that your gut it developed for a protein and iron rich diet. We’d rather make the change now than risk you developing anemic symptoms. I heard there was a Kalternecker aboard, perhaps-”

 

“Um! You are not feeding my cow to our resident naga!” Lance interrupts. His clear indignancy at the prospect of eating Kalternecker makes a smile grow on Keith’s lips.

 

“Well, I suppose Hunk should be able to change the composition of the ‘goo’ you eat. But in my professional opinion, Keith, you would be much happier with fresh meat. We don’t know if your heritage will make you an obligate carnivore or not, we can not afford an unsustainable diet. You’re a predator, we should not shy from embracing that fact.” Ulaz says, he’s got a strange look on his face. Like he’s facing some kind of moral dispute he’s had before.

 

“We’ll figure it out, thanks Ulaz.” Keith offers his forearm in farewell, attempting to sooth the ruffled fur of the other Galra despite not quite gathering what upset him in the first place.

  


This pattern repeats once every week or so, Keith or one of the other paladins notice something new or kind of odd show up and they drop whatever they're doing to go to the lab and mark it down. Usually it’s something small, like how his sense of taste is fading as the skin on his tongue thickens up to protect it from his own venom, or that his nail beds are starting to look darker and deeper than before.

* * *

 

Allura’s yelling again. Keith had been distracted during a battle costing Voltron several hours worth of progress on the system they’re currently scouting for resources. The reason for his mistake is embarrassing, enough that he hasn’t tried to use it to stop the Princess’s tirade.

 

He couldn’t see it. The fighter ship that had clipped Red’s flank had blended into the background, a large nebula surrounding them keeping the purple lights of the Galran ship easily hidden. It was infuriating, Keith’s eyesight had always been 20/20, that's required of any astronaut or fighter pilot. Glasses meant the opportunity of being disabled in deep space on the occasion of their loss, thats why the garrison had given Matt laser eye surgery before the Kerburos mission. Needing glasses means no more flying. That’s not something Keith could survive losing.

 

His finger joints ache from how hard he’s clenching his fists.

 

“Are you even listening to me? This is unacceptable Keith, as a paladin of Voltron you can not afford to make such a simple mistake! Next time it could be a planet’s worth of lives on the line, not something as common as uranium!” Allura says, her voice sharp and cutting easily through the tense air of the Lion hangars.

 

He knows she’s right, but Keith feels his temper flaring regardless. She doesn't know that there's a real reason behind this problem, it just looks like pilot error. If he tells them about his eyes they’ll force him into medical leave, he’ll be grounded in the most literal sense.

 

“I’m sorry Allura, it won't happen again.” Keith mutters, he doesn't move his gaze from the seam in the floor he’s been staring at, not wanting to see the exasperation and disappointment on his friend’s faces. He just wants to get this over with so he can go to his room and calm down and not lash out at anyone.

 

“See that it doesn't, we don’t want to see you hurt.” Allura replies, Keith can’t tell if she’s less angry or not, only that her tone of voice has shifted in some way.

 

With a stiff nod Keith sweeps out of the hangar, he can feel the stares of his teammates burning on the back of his armor. He hopes no one follows him, but the clicking of boots on metal tells him otherwise. It's probably Shiro, he's too proud to look back and check for himself. He picks up the pace, clipping down the hallway fast enough that the sound of his teammates footsteps fade to nearly nothing by the time he reaches his quarters.

 

His vision is still fuzzy like it was back in Red, no amount of blinking or scrubbing at his eyes is changing it. Frustration zips hotly down his spine even as the door of his room slides shut behind him. This is ridiculous, it feels like being told that his shoulder would never go back to normal after dislocation all over again. The orthopedic surgeon had subluxated the joint to show Shiro the laxness of the tendons, speaking placidly about how it could be fixed by surgery but that Ehler-Danlos is degenerative and that it would go back to how it was and worsen over time regardless. Like some kind of cosmic joke on his behalf, as if he’s swapping one disability for another.

 

Keith has his arms wrapped tight around his chest, he hasn’t moved from the doorway and the harshness of his bedrooms lights is making a migraine flare behind his eyes. His biceps bulge under his fingers as another wave of anger rushes over his tired mind, he’s shaking with the need to vent his frustration. He can’t even go to the training room and kick the shit out of a training droid because he can't see well enough to make it there! With a shout that scrapes harshly out of his throat he lets his fist fly, the blow lands with a shriek of crumpling metal and the lights shut out entirely.

 

Whoops.

 

There’s a gross, thick, crawling sensation beneath his eyelids and when Keith opens his eyes again he can see. The emergency lights flicked on while his eyes were still closed, the light is only a bit dimmer than it normally would be but tinted a deep indigo. Like a Galran battlecruiser. Almost immediately his migraine starts to fade. Keith looks over to where his fist is sat in a little crater of what used to be the light switch. What the hell is going on.

 

Keith whips around, wrenching his hand away from the wall, when the door behind him swishes open. Lance is pushing past him and into his room before he even starts talking.

 

“Hey man, what’s going on with you today-” Lance starts, hitting the middle of the room and pivoting on his heel to face Keith.

 

Keith cuts him off, “I know I fucked up. I really just want to be alone right now and- Why are you looking at me like that!” He snaps.

 

“Uh. Eyes.” Lance says. He steps to the side to allow Keith to rush past and into his en-suit bathroom.

 

It’s the first time he's really looked in a mirror since this whole thing started, it’s like looking at a stranger.

 

His hair is white, teeth that are practically tusks push the shape of his mouth in a way that shifts his entire profile. Worst of all is now, as he stares at his own face, his eyes are burning a bright gold. The color swallows his entire sclera, nearly opaque enough to cover the frightened pinprick of his pupil underneath. Lance’s worried face appears next to his reflection.

 

“Does it hurt?” He questions, settling a soft hand on the shoulder pad of Keith’s flight suit.

 

“No”

  
As they’re watching the pigment over his eyes ripples in opalescent waves, and it peels back entirely when the ambient lighting dims from their lack of movement.

 

It's an eyelid. 

 

 _Adipose maybe, or specialized conjunctiva_ , the composition of this new organ flirting uselessly past the slowly growing panic in his mind. Now that the lights have soothed to almost nothing but the gentle glow of the emergency lights seeping through the doorway the fuzziness has disappeared entirely, he can see crystal clear the predatory shape he strikes in the dark.


	7. Masticate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big trigger warning for this one, there's a very gruesome and gory scene in this chapter, if you want to skip it I don't blame you.
> 
> That being said I really enjoyed writing this so I hope yall like reading it! It's spring break now so I'm gonna have a bunch of time do work on writing, yehaw.

Stupid recon missions. 

 

He’s waiting in the shadowed corner of the cell as Pidge and Hunk try to crack through the security system. Lance is beside him, panting softly as he holds his bayard steady towards where they assume the door is. Their plan is shitty at best, rely on Keith’s developing night vision that their jailers don't know about, knock out the next person that opens the door and book it the hell out of this shithole. 

 

Of course it doesn't go right.

 

The Glaran guard that opens the door is one of the higher ranking ones on the ship they're trapped in, and he instantly zeros in on Lance before Keith. The man pulls off his helmet, revealing a high crested mane of fur and cruel eyes. He has his blaster pulled and he darts forward to knock the bayard out of Lance’s hands before the human can line up a shot.

 

“Come now, this is rather pathetic isn’t it? You can't see a thing you primitive creature. My general has given permission to eviscerate you if I so please. Do not push your luck.” The guard chortles, condensation drips from his words.

 

Keith can see clearly how Lane’s pupils struggle between blowing out to try and see in the dark and shivering to pin pricks with adrenaline. He doesn't have a chance to dodge as the guard snaps out a hand to grip his hair, Keith has to grit his teeth to keep from jumping to his aid. Lance can handle this, all of the Paladins have had to survive a bit of rough treatment. That knowledge doesn't make it easier to watch. His canines squeak against their honing complexes.

 

“You’re pretty for an alien, though your ears are shameful. Perhaps I’ll indulge in some vices before disposing of you, I’ve been looking for a new punching bag after all-”

 

He doesn't think, he can’t focus past the fear and anger that blooms in his gut- he doesn't even feel it when he moves. Keith is leaping out of his hiding place before he can stop the impulsive act. He’s got his fingers hooked in the sides of the shoulder straps of the Galra’s chest plate. He lets out a squawk as Keith yanks him back away from Lance- losing his grip in the human's hair- and throws him across the cell with surprising strength that he attributes to adrenaline. In moments Lance is up on his feet, arms up in a boxers stance as his bayard still lays a few feet from where the two of them stand side by side. 

 

“Where that hell did you come from!” The guard shouts, shaking himself as he scrambles to stand and look authoritative despite just being tossed like a rag doll.

 

Keith surprises himself when he tries to tell the guard to back the fuck up and a clicking growl echoes from his throat instead. The guard tsks and crosses his arms over his barrel chest.

 

“You don’t even have a translator implant? Ancients, has the empire really stooped to housing slaves and Voltron paladins together? I’ll just put you down so you're out of the way.” He steps forward again and snatches Keith up in a bear hug, easily ignoring Lance’s shout of anger and furious tugging on his arms trying to free his friend.

 

The guard kicks Lance away from him and Keith doubles his struggling when he doesn't hear his friend immediately get back up. He’s either playing dead or he actually hit his head and the ambiguity is killing him. Panic starts to set in as he attempts to call out to the other paladin but only manages to force out more clicks and grating screeches.

 

“If you weren't such a menace maybe I’d let you have a turn with him as well  _ sertz _ .” The guard grunts, crushing Keith up against his chest plate in an attempt to control his wiggling. 

 

Keith jerks viciously against the guard but his arms are like steel bands around his back and he can feel the air being squeezed out of his lungs. His wide eyes zero in on the exposed neck of his captor, Keith moves out of both instinct and desperation. He saggs forward, shifting as if to nuzzle the guard. He stupidly relaxes as he feels Keith stop moving against his grip, opening his mouth to snark. Keith cracks his jaw open into a gruesome display of teeth and the angry halo of his flexion barbs before sinking his mouth down over the meat of the Galra’s neck. He feels as first his canines, then his barbs pop through layers of fur and skin and flesh until he’s in as far as he can go. He flexes his jaw and shudders as he feels venom inject into his captor.

 

Obviously, the guard immediately attempts to yank himself free from Keith’s hell mouth. He only succeeds in ripping Keith’s canines raggedly through the meat of his neck, pulling several of the serrated barbs free but leaving nearly six behind in the wound. He howls with a gut-churning mixture of pain and anger as venom and blood mix and drip to the floor. Keith is tossed against the wall and he snaps his jaw shut before he loses his tongue to his own teeth.

 

Keiths’ hyper-focused on the guard, his neck specifically, where the flesh is rendered and several barbs stick out like a quilling from a porcupine. As he stares the guard spits curses lifting a clawed hand to clamp at the wound and only succeeding in pushing the barbs further in. 

 

“Son of shit you nasty little  _ sertz jeval _ , I’ll skin your mangy hide from your-” He's cut off by a gurgle from his own throat.

 

The fur around the wound is plastered with blood and beginning to sag oddly. As Keith watches the skin around the barbs is quickly blackening and the guard’s body snaps into a ridged line, his pupiless eyes gazing out like a terrified cow. Then with a nasty squelch the sections of flesh nearest the barbs sloughs off- leaving behind newly exposed tendons and glistening muscle. The venom doesn't stop there, steadily eating through the meat and forcing the paralyzed alien’s head to list to the side. Tears cut through the fur on his face and his breath whistles through his clenched jaw. The Galra’s arms shake by his side as blood oozes from where his claws have cut his skin, all of his muscles standing out in sharp corded lines as the deterioration of his wound crawls outward. It’s gruesome, and horrific, and Keith can’t feel anything other than detached fascination as his bite digests the man in front of him.

 

The spectacle is cut off abruptly as a flash of light leaves a hole through the guard's forehead. He drops like a sack of potatoes and Keith whips his head around to stare at Lance’s grim face in the near pitch black, his bayard still sizzling from its discharge.

 

“ _ Whh-h-”  _ Keith croaks, still strangely unable to form any coherent words but needing to communicate  _ something _ .

 

“It looked like it hurt. I think we both would rather give someone a quick death, yeah?” Lance says, lifting his shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

 

Keith nods numbly, staggering away from the wall he's propped against and falling gracelessly into Lance’s lap, giving up on the idea of running. He tucks his face into the other man’s stomach and tries to ignore the throbbing in his palette where the barbs were yanked out. He lifts his head to spit every few minutes as they wait for rescue, vainly trying to get the taste of blood out of his mouth and ignore the fact that it’s not entirely unpleasant.

 

“You're not a monster,” Lance says, voice cutting through the silence of the cell. Keith lifts his head and makes a questioning noise.

 

“I said, you’re not a monster. I know you Keith, I know that's either what you’re thinking now or it’s going to eat at your until you have another breakdown.” Keith opens his mouth to contest this but changes his mind just as quickly, Lance is right about that after all.

“You remember what Ulaz said the other day?” Lance continues, gently settling a gloved hand on Keith’s head. “He said that you’re a predator and that you shouldn’t be ashamed about it. He’s right, you shouldn't be ashamed. I know you like biology, sometimes you infodump when you think I’m not listening anymore.” Lance says fondly, Keith shoves his face back into Lance’s stomach in a weak attempt to escape his embarrassment. 

 

“No come on! You know I’d never say no to hearing about a special interest! Why do you think I always get stuck in Pidge’s lab? It’s not like I’m doing engineering.” His tone stays light and he ruffles Keith's hair.

 

“Anyway, I know you like biology. Well then you know that Humans are predators anyway, we’ve got big brains for making nasty weapons. So you presenting more Galran things dosent make you more of a predator cause you already were one. And so am I, and so is Shiro and Pidge and Hunk and the Ateans too probably. Because we get to decide what predator means, and for us it only suggests how we happened to evolve. Nothing about your character.” 

 

A hand scoops under Keith’s jaw gently encouraging him to get up and look at Lance. The other human meets his eyes in the dark despite how little he can probably see. Keith can see all of the dark beauty marks on his friend’s face. He’s struck by Lance’s maturity, he knew that several years of war and the death of a tyrant and subsequent power struggles had forced them all to be adults before their time. But in this moment it’s especially pronounced and Keith can’t help but be ridiculously relieved and grateful that he’s stuck here with Lance. He still can’t talk, and that’ll be something to panic about later he’s sure, so to show his understanding he nods his head. 

 

Feeling a bit bold, and slightly numb from today’s trauma, he leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Lance lets out a small gasp before chuckling and settling both arms around Keith’s shoulders.

 

“Alright you big softie. We’ll be alright.” He squeezes the shorter man in his arms. “We’ll be alright.”

 

Keith believes him.

  
  



	8. Literate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yahoo more perpectives for me to torture myself with. I know it's a bit choppy but I think this is a good way to follow up the last chapter. As always leave comments and let me know what you think!

Hunk has to go in to get them alone. It’s for the best, and Shiro and Allura both agree with him. That doesn't make it any less scary in the end though 

 

After Hunk’s scrambler had deactivated the droids on board renegade General Vertev’s battle cruiser, they found only three life signatures on board. One was showing signs of only residual heat, its neural impulses had quit a while ago. 

 

Dead. 

 

It’s a freshly dead body, and Hunk sends a prayer desperately out to anyone that would listen that it isn't one of his friends. But in the case that it is, and that was a very real possibility, he wanted to spare the youngest paladin of seeing their teammates body. It was already unfair that a fifteen-year-old had been spirited away off to fight in a universe wide war, at seventeen she’s already seen the kind of stuff usually reserved for gross-out horror movies. The dead eyes of a man that’s practically her brother is not something Hunk wants her to have to see if he can prevent it. 

 

So he had insisted that Pidge stay behind, citing his strength as the reason he ought to go instead. She didn’t buy it for a second, quickly calling out the fact that she’s no stranger to death either, that she saw friends and enemies alike taken out in grisly and violent ways. But it’s different, Hunk knows that it would be. He wouldn’t want his little siblings to see his corpse, he’s got a feeling neither Lance nor Keith would either. 

 

It took both Shiro and Allura to stop her from forcing her way along anyway.

 

“Come on Katie you already shut down the entire sector, you’ve practically made us and that ship invisible to anyone out of eyesight. That’s impressive in of itself. If I can keep you from seeing half the suffering I have it’ll be a miracle. And so far we have kind of managed that. Let us keep our lucky streak yeah? Trust me, if anyone can handle this it’s Hunk right? You’ll be right here when he comes back with the others” Shiro had said, gently aiding Allura in boxing Pidge away from the snout of the Yellow Lion and back into the living space. She reluctantly sets up shop to watch the security feeds she’d managed to gain access to.

 

The two remaining paladins step out of Yellow and back into the hangar to wait for their return. Hopefully, they’d be coming back with two living teammates and not as a funeral procession. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hunk feels sick with relief when he pries the doors of the cell open to see a purple puff of hair face down in blood. Well, it’s never a relief to know that someone had to die in order to secure the safety and freedom of others, but in his years Hunk has learned that death is an unavoidable aspect of war. He can deal with his own morality issues when people stop trying to kill his friends. 

 

He very carefully pulls the mangled corpse of the guard around the corner out of sight before attempting to detangle Lance and Keith’s huddle. He’s sure to allow the two to keep some point of contact the whole way out of the cruiser, Lance is a physical person and it’s probably the comfort of that that has kept either of them from decent into a panic attack. They hustle back to the loading bay where Yellow is sitting. At least they don’t have to fight their way out. 

Once in the relative safety of the Yellow Lion as he speeds towards the waiting wormhole that will bring them home to the castle, Hunk nudges the two through to the living space where Pidge is waiting.

 

_ Go, be a comfort. I will assure our arrival to the den. _ Yellow speaks softly to Hunk, his deep voice echoing quietly around in Hunk’s head. Hunk pats the armrest of his pilot's chair and walks quickly to the small living quarters in Yellow’s belly.

 

He’s not surprised to see the remnants of paladin armor scattered on the floor, Pidge sits off to the side of the bed built into the wall. Lance and Keith are squished so close to one another they may as well be one creature. Lance’s forehead shines with grease and sweat, and blood too. He’s scrubbing at Keith’s chin and neck, leaving his pale skin rubbed red and flakes of dried mauve blood crunched into the fabric in his hand, Hunk’s gonna have to wash that blanket when they get home. 

 

Pidge looks up from where she’s analyzing the codes they’d written, both to disable the monitoring systems and allow for Hunk’s magnetic scrambler to weasel it’s way into the physical computer systems. Her face is creased with worry as she quickly waves Hunk over to her side.

 

“How are they doing? I’m guessing that guy in their cell didn’t do that to himself, should we be worried?” Hunk asks quietly, hoping that his voice doesn't carry over the rumbling of Yellow’s insides and whatever Lance is saying to Keith. 

 

“Here, just watch.” She replies, her mouth is twisted with an emotion Hunk struggles to decode.

 

With a flick of her finger, the data pad she’d been reading closes the program displaying the codes and pulls up a ten minute clip that looks like it was ripped from the security footage. It shows as first Keith then Lance are tossed carelessly into the room, Lance’s armor cracks loudly against the wall. Keith’s been stripped of the platting the paladins usually wear, clad only in a his black flight suit and a layer of teal dust from the planet he and Lance had been abducted from. When he hits the floor the only sounds he makes are a hollow thump and a quiet but shrill grunt. Hunk watches as Lance’s tiny digital twin scrambles across the dark floor, feeling blindly with his hands outstretched until he makes contact with Keith’s bootless foot. They speak too quietly to be heard on the feed, but they quickly grab onto one another and retreat to the corner . 

 

Pidge rolls the feed forward about five minutes, when the image focuses Hunk can see Lance centered opposite to the door and Keith’s eyes glowing gently from the corner that will be hidden when the door opens. He puts together how they plan to get out, and while he’s happy that they maybe could have survived if he and Pidge and failed, he can guess that at some point goes seriously wrong. 

 

A clicking noise starts up as the lion jerks through the mouth of the wormhole, maybe Yellow took a hit when they were escaping because it's way too loud of a sound to have been going on the whole time unnoticed. It wouldn’t be the first time a stubborn ship had continued the assault after it’s commander fell. Though really the scrambler should have shut down all the agro mechanics, ah well, he’d worry about it later. 

 

Lance’s tone shifts into a litany of hushing and gentle orders to ‘try not to push it’ and ‘don’t force anything, we’ll figure it out when we get back.’ Hunk flicks his eyes between the pair on the bed and the set up on the data pad. Huh, wonder what prompted that. 

 

His eyes catch back onto the video as the door slides open, offering no more light from the hallway than what is already in the room. In steps a mammoth of a man, he reaches nearly to the top of the ten foot door frame. Again, whatever is being spoken is too quiet to pick up. But the noise that tears itself out of Keith’s direction when the guard fists Lance’s hair is sharp against the gentle static of the video. 

 

The clicking noise stops. 

 

Hunk looks back over to the bed and meets Keith’s beady yellow eyes as he stares at him like an owl over Lance’s shoulder. His secondary eyelids have been sticking around to protect his retinas from bright light when the levels are set to human standards. It’s a bit unsettling. He looks back to the pad.

 

Hunk has never had a strong stomach, and he feels the vengeful return of his old motion sickness at the scene unfolding on Pidge’s tiny screen. Thinking quickly, Hunk presses an unsteady finger to the volume control, muting it. Might as well not retraumatize his teammates if possible. Mini Lance’s head swivels wildly as he tries to lock onto the writhing mass of the two fighting Galran men, he steadies himself against the wall and waits. As soon as Keith thumps against the wall trailed by a spray of dark blood that Hunk desperately hopes is the guards, Lance raises his bayard. 

 

Then he starts dissolving. The guard, not Lance. He’s locked up like a stiff paper doll as the flesh on his neck slides sickeningly. Hunk has to look away as the gore escalates and he waits patiently until Pidge tapps his arm. When he peeks back both of the little paladins are curled against the wall together, in a nearly identical position to the one they’re in now. He catches Pidge’s eye, a silent message passes between them.  _ Later _ . 

 

The room shakes again as Yellow touches down in his hanggar. Pulling himself away from the video screen Hunk shuffles up to the pair on the bed, sending Pidge ahead to brief the rest of the crew on the situation. Conscious of how his large form might invoke tender new trauma Hunk carefully lowers to his knees just off the side of the mattress. The blanket Lance had been using as a washcloth is now draped over Keith’s shoulders, he looks much younger than he really is. With his hair dampened with sweat and blood Keith’s face is much thinner lacking the bulk of his fluffy mullet. Hunk clears the lump from his throat. Just do what Shiro would do. 

 

“Guys, in about five minutes we’re gonna get up and head over to the medical wing. You don’t have to talk to anybody right away, you can just get changed and have a checkup before going to bed or to a pod, okay?” Hunk says, keeping his voice low and as far away from commanding as he can without losing it’s firmness. 

 

The words are familiar, nearly every one of the crew has gone through something that necessitated them. Sometimes it’s the reactions of your friends that can really make or break you. 

 

Lance turns and smiles crookedly over his shoulder, gratefulness etched into the taught lines of his body. He turns back to Keith, mutters something to him, and when he receives an affirmative nod from the man in question, starts the slow process of unwinding. First Lance pulls their legs out from under them, stretching tense muscles and wiggling feeling back into his toes, and encouraging Keith to do the same. Then he scooches his way over to the edge of the bed and scoops the other out of his corner. Keith is standing, which is good, and he’s got his face pressed into the divit of Lance’s shoulder and pec, hiding as they start the slow shuffle past Hunk towards Yellow’s open mouth. 

 

Hunk looks away again as his friends put themselves back together enough to keep going. 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance thinks bathrooms are maybe, definitely, totally cursed. Every time he and Keith are in or around them together something traumatizing happens. First, it’s teeth falling out, then it’s freaky sideways eyelids, and now its the buzzing screech of Galran vocal chords as the red paladin screams alien gibberish at Ulaz and Kolivan. 

 

Ulaz was waiting for them in the med bay when they arrived, a sad looking couple of young adults covered head to toe in sweat and blood. When he steps to relieve Lance of Keith’s weight the smaller paladin clings fiercely to his torso and spits out a stuttering hiss, surprising loud in the large room. His white hair fluffs up with it, a lot like those old Japanese kids movies Lance used to watch with his niblings. 

 

Ulaz’s ears flick forward in shock, apparently not expecting Keith to be able to make a noise like that. Hah, now he knows how Lance feels. The older Galra steps aside to tap something into his data pad, probably asking Kolivan to come down and help. While they wait for the senior blade they go through the motions of decontamination and treating their surface wounds. Ulaz inspects the sockets in Keith’s mouth where the flexion barbs had been yanked out, though he doesn't question where they went, he and Keith share a significant look that probably means they’ll be speaking about it later. Well, that can wait for another day.

 

Along with Antok, Ulaz and Kolivan are the only blade members currently on the ship, Kolivan had sent out the rest to either head back to headquarters or off to help the various rebel leaders in cleaning up the waste of the flagging empire. They’d heard rumors of Lotor buzzing around, apparently back from his self imposed exile, as well as murmerings of Haggar gathering up the remaining generals left over from Zarkon’s army. Kolivan had thought it wise to check and see if any of that was true or not, best to nip anything in the bud while peace was being slowly restored. It’s why they were on the teal planet to start with, and why they weren't too surprised when the Galra cruiser showed up. Kolivan dips his chin to Lance as he sweeps past him toward the washroom Ulaz and Keith are in. 

 

“Now Keith, we need you to calm yourself. If we can figure ou-” Kolivan’s words are drowned out beneath the sharp ringing trill of Keith’s new voice. He kind of sounds like the grudge had a redbull, if it hadn’t been an involuntary noise Lance would have laughed.

 

Instead he winces in sympathy. This is almost like when their translators glitched out, not only did the actual word to word translation fail but so did the trans _ lit _ eration. Meaning instead of hearing Altean or Galran languages spoken like a human would, the paladins all endured the ear piercing revelation that the Galran vocal tract sounds like an Eldritch abomination had a love child with a vintage modem. Not pleasant for human ears. Though the Altean’s was no better, splittingly high pitched and incredibly fast. He can’t imagine how dull Humans sounded to them. They were all happy when the castle restored itself. 

 

The noises Keith’s making now are identical to the way Kolivan and Ulaz spoke without translators. Though apparently, he wasn’t actually speaking anything intelligible. Keith didn’t know any Galran languages, when the translators picked up phrases it couldn’t translate it might spit out a humanized version of the word, but because he was essentially just babbling it allowed the Galran noises to stay in tact. 

 

“ _ Hate _ !” Keith screams, it dosen’t sound like human speech, more like he figured out how to scrunch the grating tones of Galran voice into the shape of an english word. 

 

Hate. He could be hating a lot of things right now. He may hate that his body is doing things without his permission again, or that he’s Galra at all. He could hate that can’t speak at the moment, or that his new anatomy allowed him to kill an enemy soldier within seconds. If Lance were in his place he’d probably hate a lot of what was going on as well. It pains him that he can’t directly help. So much of their lives requires them to be the fastest, the strongest, the smartest. So when it comes to a point where there's nothing to be done other than waiting it’s impossible not to feel useless.  

 

Lance’s musings are interrupted as the bathroom door swooshes back open and a red faced Keith storms out. He scrambles out of his relaxed position against the wall and opens up his arm for the other paladin to squish under again. Keith locks an arm around Lance’s waist and jerks his chin in the direction of their rooms. Ok, time for a nap. 

 

Lance turns to thank Ulaz but he’s already deep in conversation with Kolivan. Hopefully, they’re parsing out how to help Keith. 

Not being able to communicate is hellish, when Lance moved to America to attend the Garrison he learned first hand how shitty it is to not be completely fluent. It's easy to feel dumb when you can’t fully express yourself, irritation and resentment can grow quickly if something doesn't change. He’ll have to make sure Keith has access to a data pad so he can type things out, no sense in allowing things to fester when they have easy access to assistive tech. 

 

As they’re walking down the hallway away from the medical wing Keith abruptly stops. He jerks gently from under Lance’s arm and pivots on his heel to face him. Lance raises an eyebrow in question, about to pull out his Pidge Phone TM for Keith to type on. 

 

Before he can reach into his pocket Keith’s hands start flying. He brings his right hand with the fingertips pressed into a duck bill shape and tapps it against the seam of his lips several times eyebrows up and eyes wide and vibrantly golden. Then he jabs his pointer finger against his own sternum, quickly pulling away to hook his index finger in the air. He purses his lips and brings the tips of his pointer fingers close together. An expression of contemplation crosses his face before he continues. Holding his palms relatively flat Keith presses his middle fingers to his forehead and chest, he hooks his thumb under his chin and yanks it forward. He ends with his palms face up and fingers curled inwards.

 

_ I’m hungry, I need food. Something small, I don’t wanna be sick. _

 

Well, how about that. Lance’s face splits in a wide grin. He knows how to help now. He carefully curls his fingers into an ‘o’ and snaps them into the shape of the letter K. As an afterthought he hooks and switches his index fingers twice. As recognition dawns on his gaunt face, Keith looks happier than he’s been in weeks, the shorter man steps back into Lance’s space and drops his face into the crook of his neck. His shoulders shake with relieved, slightly hysterical, laughter.

 

_ Ok, buddy. _


	9. Emulsify

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blease validate me. Also I write a lot of people getting sick for someone who has a literal phobia of vomit.

“ _Uoooz_?”

 

Little nematodes squirm in the grasp of Ulaz’s tweezers, they’re bisected with a tiny _crunch_ as he flinches at the sudden voice. Ulaz drops the tools onto his workbench with a sigh, smiling forlornly at the fungal net that spreads over the agar plate to absorb the nematodes insides. And they were doing so well, ah well he could always reset the colony tomorrow. Pulling the gloves from his large hands Ulaz swivels on his lab stool. He gently unsheathes his claws from his fingertips, thoroughly enjoying being free from the threat of piercing his gloves.

 

“Come in, cub. What can I do for you?” Ulaz asks, his ears flicking forward as Keith walks fully into the lab. The young Galra looks uncertain, an expression he hasn't worn around Ulaz for some time. It’s an immediate red flag. He discreetly pulls in a breath over his chemoreceptors in his nasal bridge, trying to glean what could be distressing his protege. After the incident on Vertev’s ship he’s been acting stranger than normal, in a way that has Ulaz on edge. Vertev was known around the blade as one of the more xenophobic commanders, no doubt he inflicted some sort of emotional damage on the two paladins he held prisoner. Who knows what he managed to do before Hunk and Pidge shut down his ship.

 

He was also known for abusing his captives in all sorts of vile ways. It’s only been roughly ten vargas since Lance and Keith were retrieved, Ulaz suspects that the other man is still asleep. This also means that Keith hasn’t spoken since being captured, another troubling thing that the two elder Galra on the castle have been struggling to find a solution to.

 

So no one can blame Ulaz for feeling protective of the cub before him. Though he really wasn’t a cub, according to Shiro, Keith is a young human adult. But his size forces Ulaz’s forebrain into thinking ‘child’ whenever he sees him, he could easily be as old as one of Ulaz’s own children. If he had any left. It’s hard not to be doting, especially with how he’s being forced to learn how to speak all over again, struggling over syllables like teething cubs do.

 

He looks even smaller now, his mane flat against his scalp and shoulders hunched. It’s fascinating to watch as his body shifts to being in a Galra specific environment: secondary eyelids sliding away from their protective position as he steps into the dimly lit space. Keith blinks and scrubs at his eyes, no doubt unsettled by the feeling of new anatomy shifting in strange ways. Ulaz can’t sympathize, his own subspecies is born with all of their features set, he never went through the type of shifting that Keith is.

 

Ulaz stands from his bench and crosses the lab in three quick steps. He doesn't hesitate to bring Keith into an embrace, holding tight his small forearm and rubbing their cheeks together in a Galran greeting. He trills quietly, the smaller man echoes almost subconsciously. Keith flushes as he always does, some strange human reaction that signifies embarrassment. Apparently, humans are very protective of their personal space, only a few of their native cultures participating in tactile greetings. According to Shiro face touching is even more restricted, only close relationships warrant it. How strange. But the black paladin still accepts and reciprocates the action when Ulaz greets him on the bridge. As does the Altean man, Coran. Ulaz enjoys the way his orange facial fur feels against the thin layer on his own face.

 

Keith breaks away quickly after rubbing once against Ulaz’s cheek. Ah, he’d have to make sure the little one knows how rude that would be before they meet back up with the blade.

 

“Do you have your data pad, Keith? There's no need to put undue stress on your voice box.”

 

Keith nods and pulls out the pad. He doesn't start typing straight away, instead he sets the pad on Ulaz’s examination table, only sparing a passing glance to the fungus currently feasting under his dissection microscope. He hooks his hands into two right angles and taps them on either side of his sternum, _have,_ he then curls his index fingers and bounces them a few times, _questions_. Ah.

 

“Ask away, you have earned your right to whatever knowledge I may possess,” Ulaz responds, he’s pleased at how tension immediately starts draining from Keith’s tight shoulders.

 

The entire crew had been versed on the very basic structure of this signed language a few of the paladins know. Lance, Shiro, and Pidge were all versed to some degree and had been teaching everyone else to the best of their abilities. Apparently the Holt family all spoke, moved (?), it back on earth- the elder Holt was what the humans called ‘hard of hearing’. Ulaz understood the condition to be the equivalent of being _echosine_ . Within the Galra this condition was seen as an evolutionary divergence, _echosine_ individuals possessed other advantages _echoapud_ did not. How strange that on Terra they considered it a disability, but he supposes that there are facets of Galran culture that come off as derisive to the humans as well.

 

However, despite a large amount of effort on everyone’s part, it was easier to get across complex thoughts through writing. At least for now, while the crew was adjusting. So Keith steals the seat Ulaz _just_ vacated, he huffs in amusement at the brashness of the mixed man, and starts pecking rapidly on the translucent screen he’d set on the table.

 

While he waits for Keith to finish Ulaz putters around the lab, cleaning up experiments and organizing notes. He’s in the process of cleaning the sweat from his phalangeal dermal pads, what Lance had gleefully announced to be ‘toe beans’, when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. He accepts the pad from Keith and settles down in a resting pit on the floor to read.

 

_While we were on the ship Vertev called me something. I think it was an insult, he thought I was a slave that had been put in the same cell as Lance on accident. I want to know what it meant._

 

Ulaz looks up in surprise. No doubt whatever Vertev had said was more than an insult, likely some kind of slur, the man was cruel.

 

“Can you repeat what he said to the best of your abilities? I will try to parse it.” Ulaz offers, a firm set to his face. It may not be a comfortable interaction, but it was not his place to deny Keith the information.

 

Keith’s mouth twists sourly, likely put off by having to use his new voice. But perhaps this would be a good exercise, if he could repeat a phrase that was transliterated maybe he can start the transition back to a human language. Ulaz gestures to the divot adjacent to his own, Keith sits down heavily, nearly ragdolling out of the contour before settling fully.

 

“ _Ssserz, ssertez,_ ” he cuts himself off with an angry huff before continuing, “ _Sertz jeev? Jeval. Sertz Jeval!_ ” Keith lights up when he manages to finish the phrase, but Ulaz’s heart sinks even as his fur bristles in rage. He snaps his gaze away from Keith’s imploring eyes, this will in fact not be a comfortable conversation for either of them.

 

“I… I will be honest, I do not wish to hear you say that ever again. I know you have no context but that phrase is a derogatory one used by upper caste Galra. It means _savage creature_. That may have translated rather benignly but in the culture it is a sign of violence and bigotry.” Ulaz pulls a tired breath through his teeth, sympathy and upset heavy in his own scent and something he can’t parse from the young man beside him.

 

“There are many bloodlines of Galra, several are corvids or carnivorous. Like us. It used to be a common thought that we were lesser than the omnivorous clades, that was a flawed classist view. Those of us who broke from the empire know that there is no intrinsic good nor evil to how we developed, we are _not_ beasts, we are simply Galra. Vertev is a vile man, I am sorry that you had to hear those words spoken to you, cub.” Ulaz finishes, he hovers a large hand over Keith’s shoulder unsure if the affection is warranted.

 

The younger man turns away from Ulaz, not shunning the touch but rapidly tapping at the data pad. He wishes that humans relied more on body language rather than their facial expressions, it’s so hard to figure out what they’re feeling. On a good day Ulaz can differentiate between smiles, frowns, grimaces, and snarls. But the nuance is lost on him, it is simply not something Galra are accustomed to. You can’t rely on minute facial tics when a good majority of the population is either furred or thick skinned.  

 

The Alteans are easier to understand, the two on board used to interact with Galra every day before the war. They used their bodies to communicate much like Ulaz does. Perhaps that’s why he feels closer to them.

 

Then there's Shiro, who seems to be able to switch between the two methods with ease. His ability to communicate via body with his captors was likely vital to his survival during his imprisonment. Ulaz can’t quite tell who’s company he prefers just yet, though Kolivan’s amused chittering that rumbles out whenever he catches him gazing at Shiro or Coran, or both when they’re together on the bridge, makes him feel as if he may not have to choose.

 

He’s snapped back into the present when Keith shoves his data pad into his face, Ulaz delicately pushes it a few inches away so he can actually read what’s written.

 

_I kind of figured that it was something like that. Humans have racism on our planet too, though it’s usually based around more arbitrary stuff like skin color and eye shape. Back home I got called stuff like that because I’m Korean and Mexican, two Terran countries, and I don’t want to say that I’m used to it but I know how to brush it off._

 

_My Dad used to say I should let it roll off of me, like water off a duck’s back. Ducks have hydrophobic feathers. I don’t know where I’m really going with this but… Thank you for being honest. I’d rather know what something means, because then people can’t really use it against me._

 

The swell of paternal affection in his chest is more of a surprise than it rightly should be. Ulaz looks from the pad, to Keith, and back several times before he gently sets the device on the floor near where they’re sat. Keith is avoiding eye contact, ears flushed in that strange hue that humans get that doesn't actually signify anything specific other than vascular dilation under the skin. Ulaz reaches over and easily drags Keith into his resting pit, the small Galra nearly topples right into his lap before settling against his shoulder.

 

“I am glad you came to me, I realize how little of your own culture you have been able to experience. I’m sorry you had to experience the cruelty before the beauty” Ulaz says.

 

Keith shrugs weakly, leaning heavily into the physical contact. They’re both surprised when a shockingly loud, clicking purr rumbles out from Keith’s chest. Ah, well, clearly the crew has been skimping on showing him physical affection. Humans are so strange. They’d have to fix that.

  


* * *

  
  


_No_

 

Lance sighs heavily from his position across the dining room table from Keith. It makes the hair on the back of Keith’s arms bristle with annoyance. They’d been going back and forth over this for nearly half a varga.

 

The little slab of cubed teal meat sits innocently on a square plate, it’s exactly equidistant from the two men because they’ve been shoving it back and forth relentlessly. Lance trying to get Keith to eat it, and Keith steadfastly refusing siting the fact that ‘ _It dosen’t smell right’_ among other things that Lance clearly thinks are just an excuse.

 

Keith holds his fingers in a ‘v’, tapping his middle digit against his cheek bone and gesturing to the meat. He curls his right hand parallel to his forehead in a three-fingered clawing motion.

 

_It looks weird._

 

“Well yeah, it’s space. Coran says that it’s just because this thing has a lot of copper in its blood so it turned green when it oxidized. Look we tried increasing the iron in the food goo but Ulaz says you’re still on the verge of both acidosis and anemia. Just eat it dude.” Lance argues back, his patience is visibly waning and Keith doesn't put it above him to force feed him at this point.

 

His stomach makes the decision for him, rumbling loudly in the wide space and settling an annoying smirk on Lance’s stupid pretty face. It makes the scar through the corner of his lip ripple slightly in a way that definitely shouldn't be as attractive as it is. Keith tosses his arms out in the universal sign of, ‘Alright, Jesus Christ if I do this will you stop bothering me for half a goddamn tic.’

 

Carefully, as if the creature it came from may still be alive and lurking somewhere, Keith picks up a cube of the meat and pops it in his mouth. His hair fluffs up in surprise when the flavor hits his tongue, it’s an almost exact match to the Ahi tuna Shiro’s mom would make for them when they visited. Huh. Wait, no, not quite. On second thought it’s more like the shitty pre-frozen tuna from supermarket sushi. But it’s better than nothing.

 

He looks back up at Lance and, ignoring his smug grin, waves his right hand in a ‘y’ shape back and forth. He hooks it into a right angle and presses his index finger of his left hand to his inner wrist and wiggles the right hand.

 

_Just like fish._

 

“Uhuh, what did I say? Trust me dude, the good doctor recommends it so I do too.” Lance replies, he leans back in his chair as  Keith goes on to devour the rest of the sort of fish cubes, easily ignoring the grainy texture in the pursuit of a full stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

Again. Bathrooms, totally cursed. Lance is sending as many negative vibrations to the deity of space bathrooms right now as he can. He’s got Keith’s hair pulled back from his face as he kneels on the floor, a position that in any other circumstance would have Lance flushed to his ear tips and running for the hills to cool off. But the fact that the white haired man is currently hunched over the toilet and retching his guts into the bowl is definitely not getting him hot and bothered.

 

“So I guess that meat was a no, huh?” Lance asks, his voice echoing and drowned out by the cringe inducing sound of Keith’s lunch hitting the metal of the basin.

 

Ulaz has been in and out a few times, looking entirely out of place in the cluttered space of Lance’s room. He radiated guilty energy espousing endlessly his regret, truly he thought it would be alright on Keith’s stomach and promising to find a solution as quickly as their resources would allow.

 

The two humans had been sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bed reading and enjoying the comfortable silence that Lance’s ADHD didn’t always allow them. Lance had been startled away from the steamy Altean romance on his data pad when Keith had suddenly hunched forward with his hands clutching his gut and panic in his yellow eyes.

 

Then it had been a rush to the bathroom at the back of the room before they got acquainted with the teal alien flesh, only a bit mushier coming up than it had been going down.

 

Keith is mostly done puking now, his forehead coated liberally in sweat and his wide shoulders shaking slightly. Lance lets go of his handful of hair so he can get up to find a washcloth. He putters about the room, wetting the cloth under the tap and getting his friend a glass of water to wash out his mouth.

 

When he returns to Keith’s side the red paladin has a stubborn set to his jaw. He signs rapidly as Lance gently dabbs at his damp face.

 

 _I think I know whats wrong. Back on the ship._ He pauses to look away, his large canines squeak against each other as he works his jaw in thought. _Back on the ship when I bit Vertev, that felt better than the green fish. Not good like I liked killing him, but more like it was what I was supposed to be doing._

 

Keith meets his eyes, spite and resignation mixing strangely on his brow. Then he lets out a heavy sigh, as if he were a puppet with his strings cut he collapses back against the counter by the toilet.

 

_I think I need something fresh._

 

Lance tilts his head and questions, “You mean like just butchered?”

 

Keith sighs again, his shoulders slump like he has the burden of Atlas is suddenly resting on him.

 

 _I think I need to kill it_.

 

Oh.

 

“Ok. Let’s talk to Allura, I bet we can find some feeder animals on the next planet we go to.” Lance says easily.

 

Whatever response Keith expected from him it apparently wasn’t that. His eyes are wide with shock and as the lights around them dim with their lack of movement, the yellow peels back to reveal the lovely purple of his irises. Tears bead at the corners of his eyes, without warning Lance finds himself with an armful of sniffling alien. He automatically starts rubbing soothing circles on his friend’s back, ignoring the sweat that had soaked through his shirt while he’d been sick.

 

“Whatever you need buddy. We’ll take care of you.” Lance murmurs. He jolts when Keith opens his mouth against his neck, his teeth brushing the skin there and sending a spark of interest up his back; he warbles out a thready and heavily distorted response that's the closest to English from him he’s heard in almost a full day.

 

“ _Thaenk yoo, Lncce”_


	10. Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this specific story. I've been thinking of maybe doing a sequel but who knows. As always let me know what you think! I hope you liked it.

The plate that Hunk sets in front of him is piled high with some sort of mollusk, the most sustainable and least traumatizing feeder animal they’ve come across that doesn't upset Keith’s stomach terribly. Coran and Ulaz had carefully searched the castles database to find the species genome, one that came from Daibazaal but is close enough to Terran seafood to please his more human palette. It’s rather macabre considering they’re still alive but he’ll take what he can get at this point.

 

“I don’t think this technically counts as cooking, all I did was pull them out of the tank, But, uh, enjoy?” Hunk says with a funny little smile. Both their heads swivel when the door to the hall swooshes open revealing the casual slouch of Lance’s shoulders. Hunk takes his leave then with one last parting smile to Keith, slapping palms with Lance as they pass in the doorway to the dining room. 

 

Lance plops into a chair and makes a ‘go ahead’ motion with his hand.

 

It still feels a bit gross, a little barbaric and animalistic, when he wedges the tapered edge of his foremost right canine between the seal of the shell with a loud crunch. Even more so when he wrenches it to the side and severs the abductor muscles keeping the shellfish shut tight. Keith expects himself to be disgusted by it, despite living with Shiro’s family for several years he never developed a taste for raw oyster-like things. It was one of his ‘bad textures’ something he would do everything in his power to avoid touching in the past. 

 

So imagine his surprise at the velvety blue insides of the clam making his stomach clench with hunger, almost instinctually using his long nails to peel out the feathery gills of the creature. The shellfish’s muscled foot, really looking more like a tongue than anything else, kicks weakly against his fingers as he pries it out and some small part of him feels a bit sorry for it. But that small part is easily quieted as soon as he drops the morsel of meat into his mouth, snapping his teeth shut behind it and swallowing it in one go. 

 

When he glances up he expects Lance, the only other person present at the moment, to look horrified. But the blue paladins face is calm, almost serene as he watches Keith tear through the pile of mollusks, not even flinching at the gross slurping noises that sometimes slip past his teammate’s lips. He even smiles- with kind-hearted smugness -when he catches Keith’s eye, lifting a hand to tap his fingers against his lips in a duckbill shape and then touching the tips to his chin and sweeping them down into his other palm.

 

_ Taste good? _

 

When Keith swallows again he feels his heart flutter down into his stomach like a pack of ravenous butterflies. God damn it.  

 

“Fuck yeah.” Keith says without thinking, the sound of his own voice- from human vocal chords no less startles him back into stunned silence. Their wide eyes meet. The shell in his hand falls to the table with a clatter as they both dissolve into rancorous laughter.

 

* * *

 

 

Warm breath puffs in the space between their lips. The humidity of the room fluctuates as the castle’s life support system automatically adjusts the environmental settings. Two sets of hands are creeping along his back, dragging through the exposed fur on his scapula and sides and sending zips of electricity up his spinal column. It is not often he gets to don leisure wear, the others had been surprised at its apparent ‘skimpiness,’ a concept born from two primarily hairless species he supposes. 

He startles and anticipation curls hot and heady in his gut- as a very cold but very welcome metal hand grazes past the scent glands on his high cheekbone. Just as quickly he’s reaching past with the other to draw forward the face of the Altean pressed gently up along Ulaz’s nearly bare side. Shiro uses his thumb to rub insistently against the gland, gathering a nice layer of the fragrant oil that conditions Ulaz’s facial fur.

The Galra watches in rapt affection as his Human partner gently smears his scent onto the eye scales resting proudly on Coran’s cheeks. The two then reverse roles, Coran pulling his gloves off to collect more scent and delicately rub it into the skin of Shiro’s nasal scar. 

They may not be able to see it and, other than Keith and the two other blades, neither can anyone else on the ship, but the sight of their new marks makes Ulaz’s chest grow swampy with affection. Neither the Altean nor the Human have the proper photoreceptors in their eyes to pick up the vibrant glow of Ulaz’s scent highlighting both of their handsome features. 

But the fact that they wanted to go through with this, a bonding ritual that Ulaz had only ever read about, means the world to him. The two men who have put their reputations on the line to defend he and the blade's presence. Who have never once shown anything other than love to him even when incensed or full of pent up aggravation. Their strength shows in the lines in their skin and the steel of lavender and grey eyes shining with wisdom and determination. It makes his heart swell and the small whiskers on his ears and cranium shiver in delight.   

He startles when a loud rumble breaks through the tender silence they had been wrapped in. A tingling flush rises along his scalp when he realizes that the sound originates from his own chest, vibrating hard enough to cause the small trinkets on Shiro’s headboard to rattle. 

Coran’s bright, happy laughter sings through the air in response. 

“Now that's the sound of a happy Galra if I ever heard it! I’m so glad this aspect of the culture has survived since my days, it was always so lovely to watch as other Alteans added to their markings. Oh! That reminds me.” Coran chitters, he shuffles slightly so that they’re no longer three abreast, situating them in a little semi-circle.

Ulaz tilts his head, ears flicking forward to pay attention as Coran closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh. 

Right before his very eyes Ulaz witnesses a practice that hadn’t been performed in over ten thousand years. Sharp lavender lines, winged like the decorative khol Shiro likes to apply, fade into existence just under his eye scales. It matches quite perfectly with the path Shiro’s fingers had taken with his scent. It takes his breath away, the delicate seafoam green of his eye scales compliments the new color radiantly.

“Last time I had something like this I was technically royalty, though I don’t think there was anyone left behind to rescind my title so maybe I still am. Congratulations Shiro, Ulaz, welcome to the Altean lineage!” Coran exclaims, a pretty blue flush splashed over his jubilant face. 

Ulaz is too happy to speak, joy bubbling up like the magma pits he’d read about on Diabazal. Even if this is just a courtship ritual, and a rather antiquated one at that, it feels significant. Like if maybe the budding affection between the three of them can be fostered as it’s being now the tides of the universe truly have turned. Happiness can still exist in galaxies so torn by war and pain. 

  
  


His partners touch lips over his shoulder, some romantic gesture that both of their species share. They lean in an rub their noses against his one by one, ah and doesn't that just fill his crop stomach with wriggling  _ telves _ ? His purr rumbles harder, it’s loud enough that it completely drowns out the feet running down the hall toward his quarters. He’s far too distracted by Coran’s deceptively strong arms looping round his shoulders, by Shiro’s half-and-half cool and warm hands on his tingling cheeks. Even the slow slide of Shiro’s hands from innocent affection to decidedly more sensual, a harsh spike of arousal shooting to his midriff lighting him up from the inside in a burst like a white dwarf star has bloomed, he isn’t alert to the approaching people’s squirly gate and spaced chuckles.

  
  


The door to Ulaz’s personal chambers, sized properly to his Galran anatomy by the castles AI, shoots open. He had been under the impression that the doors here opened at a set speed, evidently not. 

Shiro’s hands freeze on his neck and three sets of owl eyes meet the two intruders, who hadn’t paused in their excitement to absorb the situation they had just interrupted. Shiro’s thigh is hiked up over Ulaz’s lap the black paladin in a near straddle and Coran’s solid arms tighten in surprise as Lance and Keith nearly fall over one another to get into the room. 

“I can’t believe your first real word again was-” Lance chortles over Keith’s hand mushing his mouth.

“Sh-shut it Lan-Lance! Ul-laz, don’t listen-listen to him he’s jus-just being a d-dick dick. Uh, wh- did w-we interrupt something so-something?” Keith stutters out, seeming to still not quite be back in the groove of speaking human English. His cheeks immediately flush a bright shade, Ulaz and Coran both tilt their heads at that, only Shiro having the sense to scramble up and start shoving the two back towards the door they came from. 

“Wait a second! You three, but! Since when? I thought I knew all of the Castle gossip!” Lance loudly protests as Shiro uses Keith as both a barrier and a battering ram to push against him.

“Nope, not happening. Come back later!” Shiro shouts over the racket. 

Keith wiggles uselessly against his brother's hands, letting his protest be known through an indignant huff and small irritated trill from his syrinx.

The small scuffle ends with Keith tripping forward over his own damn boot, fashionable and not very functional apparently, and semi pinning sort of hugging Lance up against the far wall. He looks down at where Lance’s face is smooshed into his neck and a tittering chirrup squeezes it’s way past his teeth just as the door swooshes shut behind him. The blue paladin is still muttering, though it seems to be in good humor rather than any actual annoyance, and his ear tips are flaming red. 

Keith pulls back a hair’s breath, not enough to break their embrace but to allow their eyes to meet. For a moment Keith thinks the door to Ulaz’s room has reopened, the look on Lance’s face is bright-eyed and awed to the point of brilliance. 

But it hasn’t, and he's really looking at Keith like he carved out the cosmos. 

At that moment, as if the cosmic deity of cheesy romantic comedy is giving them his blessing, the door that up until that point Keith had assumed was a wall slides open and sends the pair toppling to the ground of a vacant bedroom. The rooms here are adjusted to Galra standards, the eyelid that usually protects Keith’s eyes from bright light slides away to reveal the slate violet of his irises. 

Backed by the deep indigo lighting of the room Keith’s white hair shines lavender in streaks. He can’t feel it but he’s sure that his pupils are shining. Thanks tapetum lucidum, you cryptid inducing eyeshine.  

“You look like starlight.” Lance breathes out, a pretty blush making his beauty marks stand out starkly on his handsome cheekbones. 

“I- uh.” Keith starts, but sputters out before he can communicate the fluttering beneath his sternum and the joy burning bright up his throat. A happy noise, though it sounds a bit like someone dropped a spoon into a garbage disposal, builds up in his chest. 

Lance can surly feel the way his chest is thrumming, the curls falling across his forehead shiver in time with Keith’s alien vocalization. His smile is soft and genuine, it’s almost too much for Keith, who tries to turn his head away only to be stopped by a calloused brown hand on his cheek. 

“ _ Luz de las estrellas.  _ Starlight, looking at you feels like flying through nebulas.” Lance says into the quiet space between them.

Oh god, that’s so fucking romantic. Lance is so damn romantic and it’s really, actually, physically killing Keith. Killed him Dead, here Lies Akira ‘Keith’ Kogane-Song who tragically succumbed to a handsome man’s silver tongue. 

Keith is… Not great at words at the best of times. Even he can recognize that this is an important moment, one that a few sloppy words or uncalculated reaction could ruin. So he does what he does best, he goes with his gut.

Keith tilts his head down toward Lance, doing his best to keep their eyes locked. Bright lazuli blue and ashy violet meet like an overcast sunset as their foreheads press together, Keith’s snowy hair falling in a short curtain around them. The tone of his rumbling changes then, goes a bit quieter but just as rich as he tries to communicate the way Lance makes his insides feel like they're on fire. 

Lance waits patiently, seemingly not put off at all by the fact that he’s laying under a man who could rip his throat out as a snack at any second. But maybe that’s the biggest tell of how good his heart is, that he never once seemed afraid of Keith and his strange alien puberty. The pearl of self-loathing that had been collecting in his chest dissipates as if it had never been there, it's a feeling he doesn't experience often. And it’s not because a boy he likes called him beautiful, this might just be one of the few times Keith has ever been able to accept a compliment because it is so clearly  _ genuine _ . The way Lance feels for him is broadcasted all over his face, in the way the dark skin around his eyes crinkle with early crows feet- smile lines a mile long. 

It’s the easiest thing in the world, to slide the bridge of his nose along Lance’s own pointed one, easier still to slot their lips together in an even press. He carefully keeps his teeth covered by his own lips, the thought of scratching Lance accidentally worse than anything else. Though if after this they have time to talk about it some real boundaries can be set up. In the moment he focuses on the giddy affection passing between them, the way Lance’s soft lips move against his own, a slow meaningful action that makes his ears feel like they're tipped with static.

When they pull apart Keith is still somehow supporting his weight on his own elbows, his Galran strength a neat new addition to his list of traits. He’s startled by the skin on his arms, shining in opalescent waves of deep indigo that's nearly blue and magenta, colors leeching up from his fingertips and making the few moles he has stand out starkly. Well thats… New. It’s almost like bruising, and that's what he may have mistaken it for if not for the clearly liquid way it moves. Chromatophores, pigment cells that Ulaz had warned him may develop causing his skin tone to swim and morph like the clouds of a dying sun. 

“You look like a bleeding Piccaso.” Lance busts out with a soft chuckle, terrible cockney accent and everything, his broad shoulders shake with mirth between Keith’s arms. Keith can’t help it, he dissolves into helpless giggles, pressing his face into the warm brown skin of Lance’s neck. This man, this warrior, guardian of the universe, protector of children, lover of all- he chose Keith to make happy. He puts in the amazing amount of effort and earnestness his kind heart holds and shines it out towards him.  

If Keith is a nebula then Lance is an eternal supernova, the light and beauty of his character drenching anything and everything that gets pulled into his orbit. He’s like iPTF14hls, having been shining and dying and reviving under Terran supervision since its discovery. No one knows how the zombie star avoided fading one hundred days after its first eruption, only growing brighter still to the utter bafflement of astronomers.

“I think I may love you.” Keith murmurs, holding steady their electric eye contact.

Emotions that Keith can’t begin to parse flash across his face, but he can trust Lance enough to believe that they are good ones.

“I think you may be right,” Lance replies. He flushes a beet red when he recognizes what he’s said and stutters to clarify through small chuckles, “I love you too! By the way, just in case you missed it,  _ Cadete del Espacio _ .” 

God Keith is so gone on this man and his damn dimples, and dumb jokes, and full heart, and  _ ugh _ . 

Despite all they’ve been through, Lance is still shining. He’s dealt with all sorts of horrible things in this war: torture, isolation, depression, PTSD- the whole gambatte really. Yet he’s the most radiant person Keith has ever laid eyes on. He saw the alien transformations Keith keeps having and loves him still. 

Keith shifts all his weight onto one arm, the muscles only straining slightly. He uses his free hand to cup the sharp jaw of the man beneath him. 

Keith chuckles before dipping his head to kiss the other again. When he pulls back Lance’s face is split in the brightest grin hes ever seen, Keith is surprised that he doesn't need his special eyelids just to look at him. Keith feels like he’s being swallowed by Lance’s supernova.

He smiles back with all his teeth, unafraid of how he looks. He knows that Lance loves him anyway.


End file.
